To My Dear Friend Alicia
by ShadowChik
Summary: After her dreams are smashed out from under her, Katie Bell reveals to her best friend Alicia the lengths that she went to regain her life after Hogwarts and why, exactly, she is living in George's bedroom above WWW
1. To My Dear Friend Alicia

_Author's Note: I have tried a non-lyrical story for you guys in celebration of being on this site for two years.I'm going to try and get it finished by 7/12, but we'll see! At the least, I'm going to try and get it dome by the 16th so that I don't have to amend it a hundred times because it is riddled with inconsistancies, lol. The sequel is already in the works and I really think that you guys will like it. Read and review, por favor!_

To my dear friend Alicia:

I write this letter to you in the dark above WWW because I must get something off of my chest, and I knew that you were just the one to write to. Why didn't I write to Angelina, you are no doubt asking yourself, as you curl up on your very comfy sofa with that horrid animal that you like to call a cat. That question can be answered quite simply and the response can be found in the bowels of this letter that is definitely for your eyes only. Why your eyes only and not Lee's also? Read on, Alicia…

When people think of Fred and George…they immediately think Lee. Fred, George and Lee. It could very well become a hybrid: Gredlee. And occasionally Angelina is thrown in there because she's Fred's girlfriend and hangs on his arm a lot. But I'm not going to get into what, exactly, their amalgam name would be.

But does anyone think Katie Bell? Does anyone in the whole bloody world think, Gee, I wonder what Fred 'n George 'n Katie are planning next? No! No one ever wanted to know, even during Hogwarts!

Even you, my best girl friend, didn't even ask what I was doing while you were up in the boys dorms snogging Lee like there was no tomorrow, or where I was going with Angelina's boyfriend alone while she was at some random club meeting. That is why I'm telling you in this letter, that Fred and George and I were almost inseparable during Hogwarts.

Who does everybody think helped look up brews for their candies and who helped them invent spells for their pranks? Certainly not the twins! They're much more intelligent that they lead on, take it from me, but I don't think that either of them have set foot in a Library more than a dozen times in their lives, much less know what a Dewey Decimal System was.

So, as you see, that's where I have always come in, and the reason that I am living in George's bedroom above WWW. No Alicia, not _in _George's bed. Not all the time, anyway. We mostly draw Laughing Licorice Sticks to see who gets to sleep on the worn out mattress (I've enclosed a few pieces. At 3 knuts a strand, they're a real bargain. _Laughing Always Guaranteed_ ©WWW). At any rate it's very small and can barely hold one person, so sharing is out of the question. But back to the very important topic at hand.

How is it that I never get the credit? Is it because I didn't hang around on their arms as much as Angelina does? Because I didn't grow up two towns over from them, like you did? Is it because Lee and the twins have a special bond over all things gross? IS IT BECAUSE I'M ONE YEAR BELOW THE LOT OF YOU? IT IS, ISN'T IT?

But it doesn't matter now, I suppose. Because in the history of Hogwarts, I will always go down as the chaser who was very good friends with Fred, George, and Lee and best friends with Alicia and Angelina but somehow managed to escape the limelight that followed them around for the most part.

Actually, I didn't really escape it at all. But for the sake of posterity, we will say that the limelight tended to dim a bit when it came to me. (That little amendment should clear things up a bit when we show our children and grandchildren this letter one day and laugh. Or give them an idea of what our lives were like after they find it haphazardly shoved in _A Completely Long and Horrid History of Magic_ or something of the like, knowing you)This was a completely positive thing at times, and quite a depressing one at others.

But, to explain these misconceptions about myself and where I come to play in the lives of others as of a few years ago, namely Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson, and you Alicia Spinnet, but mainly Fred and George Weasley, I have written you this letter, which I am not calling a letter so much anymore, but giving it the name of _The Utterly Unabridged History of Katie Bell's Life After Hogwarts (Thus Far)_. Hopefully _The Utterly Unabridged History of Katie Bell's Life After Hogwarts (Thus Far)_ will give you new insight on our(my) lives (life). (Thus Far). Also, with any luck the title will intrigue you (you know it does) and force you to read this letter, and I can use it for the title of my memoir one day.

And so Alicia, I beg of you to read this. It is important to my sanity for you to understand why I am, exactly, in George's room above WWW and why on earth I have decided to stay there.

And, without further ado, my dearest dear friend Alicia, (You are a dear, you know that, correct?) I present _The Utterly Unabridged History of Katie Bell's Life After Hogwarts (Thus Far)._


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It was humid and raining outside. I remember that specifically because as the rain hit the hot street, fog arose and blanketed Diagon Alley. It gave it an eerie look, which was even more effective when our fellow witches and wizards walked slowly though the haze swinging lanterns. I also specifically remember this weather condition because we were running blindly through it, trying to reach the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. Well, to be fair, I was the only one running. And I was tugging on the arm of your cloak and on the front of Fred's trying to reach the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies while Angelina and George tagged along behind. No one seemed to complain, because after all, I had let myself be drug around most of Britain by you guys. You mostly apparated, though.

Apparating is not my strong point (and never has been) and I only do it when it's absolutely necessary, so as I dragged the two of you along, we stumbled through puddles, got nearly run over, and were drenched to the bone. Lovely day, considering. Just as the broomstick-shaped sign came into view, another obstacle presented itself. A crowd had formed in front of the window. The window where _I _needed to be. Not them. Who cared about them, anyway?

I let go of the handfuls of cloth that I was death-gripping and narrowed my gaze at the masses. From the throng of hopefuls, I heard screeches of agony for the most part. Not very uplifting. But every few moments there was a hushed cheer or a flash of a grin. Still watching the crowd, but with a softer stare, I breathed in the smell of victory. All for me. All for Katie Bell. I could just imagine myself in England's stately robes, breeze in my hair, cheers all for me. Oh yes, it suited me well.

"Aren't you going to--", Fred began, and was cut off by George, "check the list?". That was all they said. Ha. No jokes. Absolutely 100 jokeless. Take that, I thought with a wicked grin, my career wasn't a laughing matter.

"I suppose", I answered with a playful sigh, and I flicked my sopping ponytail over my shoulder. "I suppose I must". I was prolonging the moment of complete self-assuredness. The moment where you are so sure that you are the best thing that has ever happened to the world. Or, in this case, England.

"I suppose that you had better get your arse over there", you responded unhappily, as you smoothed out the arm of your wrinkled and dripping robe. "I want a butterbeer after this." After pulling on the garment in a hopeless attempt to straighten it, you amended with a grumpy, "Make that a large firewhisky."

Throwing a saucy grin over my shoulder, I traipsed up toward the crowd with Angelina behind me. A short and round wizard stumbled past me looking teary-eyed as I neared the edge of the crowd. I looked after him with an eyebrow raised. I knew him from tryouts, Earl for seeker. Once you have known someone over the past month, you don't tend to forget them quickly. The poor bumbling fellow had been much too heavy for a seeker and had been unable to pick up speed. As a result, on one of the last days of practice a bludger had nailed him in a most uncomfortable spot. I hope that he is able to have children one day, I honestly do.

Maybe Angelina took my slight pause for one of hesitance, because she grabbed my hand and shoved through the crowd herself. How I admire her, and always have, and her ability to take action even if something didn't really concern her. At home, most people call that nosy. But we three chasers? Nope. Survival to us. As I was propelled through the mob, I looked over the heads of the agitated people behind me to see what you and the twins were doing. From what it looked like, Fred and George were shooting fireworks from their wands and you were sitting in the mud. What were you doing, anyway, Alicia?

By the time that Angelina had reached the front, there were more than a few angry magic folk behind us. Armed with wands as well as fists. I had no idea that people hated being cut in front of so much. I could see the paper, and could just make out the words as I received a violent push from behind. I suspect that it was most likely Angelina, but I wouldn't have put it past anyone in the crowd.

As a result of the shove, I stumbled forward and stopped moving with my face just inches away from the glass with the list on the other side. I could read it. Taking a deep breath and grinning to myself, I dragged a finger down the glass in front of the parchment and read it aloud to myself:

_**ENGLAND NATIONAL QUIDDITCH TEAM ROSTER**_

_Seeker: _Jonathan Lowe

_Alternate Seeker: _Patricia Hall

_Keeper: _Devon Robinson

_Alternate Keeper: _Zachary Green

_Beaters: _Melanie Smith

Brian Thompson

_Alternate Beaters:_ Nathanial Hughes

Hank Wallace

_Chasers: _Janni Fletcher

Nathalie Gledhill

Edward J. Robbins III

_Alternate Chasers: _Katie Bell

Laurent Bonnet

Carlos Casto

My eyes opened wide and my jaw dropped. I scanned the paper again. What? Alternate? I was easily one of the best players on the Gryffindor team. And Gryffindors did not take quidditch lightly. Not at all. I couldn't face everyone after this.

With a disappointed squeak, I leaned forward and let my body rest against the window. No. How could this be? Only alternate! My head bumped against the glass with a 'thunk' and I let my body lie still for a moment as I thought it over. It wasn't even worth playing if I was only an alternate, practice and no play.

"Hey!" Someone in the crowd howled impatiently. "We're here too, you know. Move it along, Sweetheart." I felt the rustling of robes behind me, but had neither the will nor the energy to move. "Hmm." I responded, fogging up the glass. Immediately after, I heard a screech from inside of the store.

A frumpy man with coke-bottle glasses burst from the doors of Quality Quidditch Supplies. "Ger'off my window!". He barked and shook his wand angrily at the side of my head, my face still incidentally pressed against the window in question. "You din't warsh 'em. I did. You'll right and ruin 'im". I heard peals of laughter behind me, but still didn't move. He stepped forward a bit and prodded me in the side with his wand, jumping back as if he expected me to lunge at "'im". "You 'eard me. Off. Now."

I leaned back and looked evenly at him, my shoulders slumped in defeat and mouth set in a line. I could teach him a lesson. Right here, right now. But before I could throw a smart-assed comment his way I felt Angelina's strong hands on my shoulders. "Come on, Katie." As she moved me through the crowd, I heard the fellow add something else. "The zany 'uns always play qui'dich, eh?". I just sighed, and let Angelina steer me away from the bloody list.

"What's the report, mon capitain?", George grinned and dropped his sparking wand. Fred jumped behind me, replacing Angelina's hands with his arm. "First string, you say? Captain?". He stopped short and gasped, waving a hand in front of his eyes. "World renowned already, Bell?".

I sighed as a response and shook off the twins ("Too good for us, eh?", Fred sniggered). Dragging my feet (as well as the hem of my robe, I'm sure) through the mud, I walked over to you. "Firewhisky it is."

Turning toward the Leaky Cauldron, you grumpily added, "Good show". Fred was the only one who was slow to follow. "So, are we celebrating? _Are_ you world renowned?" He frowned and looked suspiciously down the street. No one thought that I saw Angelina turn around and grab his hand. Angelina most _certainly_ did not think that I heard her mutter, "Shut it, Fred", before pulling him along in her authoritative way. But I did. Oh yes. I did.

It was only when we came within spitting distance of the Leaky Cauldron that I realized that rain was pouring down my face and arms in a steady stream. It was funny, I hadn't realized that it was raining at all. I guess having your hopes ripped away and run over by hippogriffs can do that. Your bangs were plastered against your face and were a darker black than usual. Underneath, you looked grouchy and angry.

I couldn't help it. I began to laugh. Five sopping wet people weren't funny at all. Not usually. But at that moment, I think that I must have been short-circuiting.George raised an eyebrow at me before he chivalrously opened the door to the pub for us. Angelina shoved me down into a booth and sat next to me. You pulled up a chair. Do you remember? You pulled it out from under that passed-out witch, and when she fell it almost made me laugh harder.

Fred threw himself into the booth across from us and George followed, holding two bottles in each hand and one perched precariously on his wrist. He bit his bottom lip as he concentrated on not spilling it. Now why couldn't I have a skill like that? George would never be out of a job, unlike me. He could always resort to bar-keeping. The idea of George as a barkeep was actually quite a depressing one, so I quieted down a bit as he slid the bottles across the table. Firewhisky for everyone but me and himself. Me, because I hated the handover that firewhisky inexorably brought, and George because he didn't like to drink much. This was unlike Fred who could chug a bottle of firewhisky faster than Warrington from the Slytherin team. Which was proven when he was in his 5th year and Warrington in his 7th.

You had preformed a drying spell as soon as we walked in the door, Fred and Angelina likewise (George didn't seem to mind being sopping wet, and I didn't know the drying spell and even if I did I wouldn't have preformed it right anyway), and brushed your dark hair out of your eyes. "A toast to Katie. May your quidditch years be filled with triumph and extremely good-looking men." You raised your lusted-after firewhisky and winked at me. "_Extremely._" Fred was quick to follow, and clinked the neck of his bottle with yours. "Cheers, Bell!" He smiled. Angelina looked at him incredulously. I imagine that she was figuring that he didn't know anything. I've seen that look before.

This was all-together too much. The laughing fit that I had just managed to stop had come back with a vengeance. "The funny thing is, that--", I gulped a breath and continued, "I only made alternate!". I giggled. "Alternate! Can you believe that? Me!".

I grinned wildly and sipped my butterbeer. Just like the rain, the news of being alternate crept up on me. As the drink warmed me, I came to my senses. Alternate! Me! That's right! I had almost forgotten what that meant. All practice, no play. The others looked at me with wide and solemn eyes. Oh, God.

I gasped in the middle of a sip, and choked. I put a hand to my throat as the inevitable coughing fit passed. I put my butterbeer down and felt my eyes tear up. "I—I--", I stuttered. Tears began to stream down my face. God, how embarrassing. If only I could have done that over, I wouldn't have acted like such a nut. "I'm only an alternate! I don't deserve to live!". And with that, I let my head fall onto my forearms.

I heard stunned silence for a moment before you patted my back. "It's all right, sweetie. We're here for you." There was a beat before Angelina put her arm around me and added reassuringly. "Yeah. The best players start out as alternates. Wood did, you know that. Look where he is now!"

"Where _is_ he now?", A twin added aloud. Then there was a thud and a grunt. It was Fred then, Angelina had kicked him. "I mean, other than playing quidditch, that is. On _first-string_, probably." There was another thump and a sharp intake of breath. "Christ." He muttered something else under his breath, adding aloud: "George, I should have taken my cue from you. Silence is golden, yes siree. That's my new motto."

I sighed and sat up, wiping the tears from my face. "This is so stupid. I don't know whether to accept or not. I think I have to, but I'll never get to play. Plus, I only get paid a fraction of a _fraction _of what the first-string is paid. Then what's the point?". I took a civilized sip of my butterbeer. "I just don't know. What should I do, guys?".

"You know", you said thoughtfully. "That Jonathan Lowe, the captain, is extremely good looking and rich. _Extremely_." And then you winked and I knew what I had to do. Fred gagged, showing his disgust, and George rolled his eyes in good-humor. "Right. I'm taking it." I raised my butterbeer. "Cheers, right?"

"Ta, Bell!", Fred whooped. The bottles clinked and the deal was sealed. Practice started the day after tomorrow, according to my schedule. I was going to play this year no matter what it took.


	3. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: For full explanation of why I will definitely not get this done by tomorow, see profile. _

_Yes, long chapter, twice as long as the previous two chapters put together. **Note:** All the children of the Bell family have names that are of Irish origin, but have been made English by popularity. Although Brenna, Katherine, and Connor are all quite simple to pronnounce, the same is not true for Ana, Katie's older sister. Although the spelling, as well as baby books, leads you to believe that it is another form of Anna, it is completely untrue. Ana is a traditional Irish name that is also the name of the patron goddess of the earliest Celtic settlers. It is pronnounced AW-ne or AW-nay in the traditional Irish tongue._

_Not like I'm Irish or anything. Right. Carry on. _

Chapter 2

It was well after seven at night before I decided that I had better get home. You know my parents, Alicia. I am a full-grown witch and they still wait up for me. I decided to spare them the trouble and get home, wouldn't want to keep them up _too_ late, you know? Especially after I explained how I ended up as an alternate. I wasn't sure how that would be taken at the time.

For speed, I decided to apparate home. Why speed, Alicia? Because, may I cordially remind you, you begged me to stay longer. Remember? And like the flake I am, I bowed to peer-pressure. Even though it forced me to do the one thing that made me scared out of my mind. Ever since I read about that girl getting splinched, it hasn't been my favorite form of travel. You know what I mean, next time those could be _my_ arms left behind! It was only by luck that I passed that test, I'm telling you. But it was a twenty minute sprint, and I wasn't in the mood for that.

After apparating, I jogged up the yard that my father kept perfectly manicured at all times, expertly leaped over the pothole that was, strangely enough, in the middle of our perfectly manicured yard, and hopped up the stone steps leading to out large wooden door. Before knocking, or even entering, I leaned over and looked into the clear glass window next to the door. I couldn't see anyone, not even a shadow, but my brother's Nimbus 2001 (His pride and joy) as well as his shoes were tossed carelessly in the middle of the hallway. With such crucial items lying about, it was a safe bet that somebody was home.

Deciding against barging in, in case a game of exploding snap was in progress (which it usually was) and causing it to explode (which I usually did), I knocked first quietly on the door, and then louder a second time. The door swung open. "You're late", my thirteen-year-old brother informed me, looking bored. Bored is how his facial expression tends to look. Always. So I tried not to get any ideas from it.

"For what, pray tell, am I late for, Connor?", I asked in annoyance before a thought came over me. "Oh no", I moaned and slapped myself on the forehead.

"It's Sunday", Connor added, evenly and unnecessarily. He stepped aside so that I could join him in the foyer. My younger brother, but still taller than me by about two inches, brushed his long and shaggy hair out of his eyes. "Ana's here, as well as her boyfriend. Mum is stark-raving mad." He took my cloak and tossed it over a hook in the wall effortlessly.

Connor didn't have to tell me twice what the consequences would be. I had been late last Sunday also. As well as an additional lifetime of other Sundays. Blasted Sundays. Blasted Mum for being to anal about 'family dinner' on Sundays. "What should I do?", I pleaded for help. Why, exactly, I pleaded? I don't know. Might as well not answer that question and save my dignity.

Connor shrugged in a most helpful manner. "Tell her that you overslept. You took a nap, but forgot to check the time." I looked at him oddly, and wondered what was in it for him. Contrary to the last few comments, he was usually quite the model teenage boy and younger brother.

"Right. Nap." Hey, Alicia, any excuse was better than none at all. I nodded at him and gave him the OK sign with my fingers, before I strode confidently into the warm kitchen. On the stove, a boiling pot stirred itself, and my mother stood to the counter with her back to me.

"Hello Mum", I called out delicately, nervously pressing the pads of my fingers together. "I'm sorry I'm late, Mum. I took a nap. Forgot the check the time. You know how I am with time. I have a poor concept of it." Or so my father has said. Except in those cases it was used as a compliment. My dad admired people who didn't jump out of their skins in order to be on time. I twiddled my fingers hopefully. In the silence that followed you could hear the steady sound of my mother chopping some anonymous vegetable. Oh God. She was chopping something. With a knife. I found myself instinctively leaning back.

Without warning, the chopping ceased. I allowed myself a small sigh of relief, and found myself nose to nose with a very sharp, very pointed, very _efficient_ butchers' knife. "Bullshit Katherine Bell, you were not napping. You used that same excuse last week." My mother informed me in a dangerously low voice. Oh, right. I knew something was wrong with Connor helping me. Shit shit shit. I could almost _hear_ him smirking somewhere in the house. "Further more Katherine", she continued on in the same growl of a voice. "You smell like smoke and liquor. So unless you napped in a bar, you were going to have to do better than that." Yikes.

_Further more_, Alicia, is it actually possible to smell like liquor when you haven't drunk any? Or even snogged somebody who happened to take a swig? We must discuss this further. Next Friday at Leaky Cauldron? I'll buy.

I sidled in to save my own hide. Pushing the knife gently out of my general direction, I explained in my most calm and reasonable voice: "Well, you know, Mummy. They posted England National's roster earlier. I had to go and celebrate at the Leaky Cauldron with the girls and the twins. Mandatory, you know. Couldn't slip out".

My mother's face softened at the mention of quidditch. "I take it you made it, then? Good for you, following in Ana's footsteps." All of a sudden, I didn't feel so well. From a semi-high to an all-time low in one sentence, it was record pace. I didn't want to tell her that the Harpies were hardly in the same league as England National. I certainly didn't fell like telling her that I made only alternate, after my sister was assistant captain to the famous Gwenog Jones.

In one swift movement, my mother gave me a gentle shove to the counter and plunked a large pot in front of me. I groaned inwardly. "Mash them, Katherine." Was what she said, watching over my shoulder. I pulled my wand out of the back pocket of my pants to a deep sigh from my mother. "By hand, Katie. You know that they taste better that way." Yes, but Alicia do you know why? Last time I used magic I set fire to them. It was my turn to sigh, but took the utensil from my mother and glared down at the potatoes.

"So you made England National, Kate?" A voice came from directly in front of me; I could feel the argument coming on. You know how I am, Alicia. Not so much that I can feel them, but I can tell how I'm going to react to something and know when it's not good. I can _feel_ arguments, and you can put a trendy, new outfit together in 2 minutes, 49 seconds flat.

The voice came from my sister, Ana, sitting at the table directly in front of me. My sister is everything that I am not, and basically all that I wanted to be at one point or another. She is tall (about a good five or six inches taller than me) and willowy, with an actual chest and hips at age22. As opposed to my 5'5" frame that is, at it's best, on the slim side. We usually get along quite well. For the most part. Both she and my brother inherited the less-talked about Irish stereotypical look of shock-straight black hair and dark blue eyes. From my mum, of course. While I got stuck with dark blonde hair that was straight enough, but has a funny tendency of flipping strange ways on the end, and (finally) the familial eyes.

Everyone has always said that I look exactly like my dad, blonde and built, and that my siblings are carbon copies of my mother, tall, willowy, and very, very Irish. I prefer looking like my dad, for the most part, though. We are very similar in temperaments, and…oh, I suppose you know all of this. Anyways…

"Eh", I eyed the fellow sitting next to her. Dave has been her boyfriend for the past few years. I've never completely trusted him, no matter how often he is with us. He's awfully twitchy. Once, I dropped a book and he covered his head with his hands. I don't know how such a soft-spoken individual and my sister could ever get along. Instead of answering her question, I narrowed my eyes at Dave and said clearly, "Hello, David", before wailing into the potatoes mercilessly with the metal instrument that I had been given.

" Hello", Dave answered nervously, looking about in a jerky motion while my sister gave me a sneer and said, "Because Grenog was owled the list. It looked like you only made alternate."

You know, there is only so much abuse that one girl can take in one day before she snaps. "You know what, Ana? Yeah, I did make alternate. Why don't you keep your bitchy comments to yourself next time?" For emphasis, I pulled out the potato masher and pointed it in her direction, flinging mashed potato bits all over the counter. Thrusting it at her, I went into such a swearing frenzy that my mother smacked me over my head and took the potatoes away from me.

"Do not _ever _speak to your sister, or brother for that matter, like that. Ever. Next time I hear you, Katherine, you will just have to find somewhere else to eat on Sundays." She shook her head, and scooped the potatoes into a large bowl. "How did I end up with such an antagonistic child?" She pondered this aloud, of course. Probably in order to lower my self-esteem or to make me even more mad.

"No more Sundays? You mean that I can still live here, but get out of eating here when _she--_", I pointed an accusing finger at Ana as I pulled out a chair to the table and threw myself down on it, "-- is here? Pity." I snarled, and crossed my arms over my stomach. Dave looked uncomfortable. I bet if he could have run, he would have. He has always looked like he could be fast.

My mother shot me a warning glance, and then called my father and brother to dinner. Ana turned to face me and smiled in her sickly sweet fashion. "I just don't know why you didn't tell us that you were an alternate in the first place. It's still good, you know."

I furrowed my brow as my brother thundered down the stairs to my right. "Go to hell, Ana." I grumbled, and caught Connor by the arm as he tried to rush past. "You're sitting by me tonight, Con. I owe you so much, especially after that handy excuse." I grinned, but not in a happy manner. Alicia, you are so lucky that you are an only child. It's a full time job, honestly, trying to keep the both of them in line.

Connor, I'm happy to report, blanched and allowed me to pull him into the seat next to me. The back door swung open and my father strode in, looking extremely dirty. And I mean it, Alicia. Dirt all over his pants, his shirt, his robe, his face. If his long hair wasn't pulled back, I'm sure there would have been some there too. I suppose as he owns a Herbology shop, he doesn't realize that there are other ways to look. But I lightened up right away. My dad was one of my favorite people in the world.

"Kate!" My father wrapped me in a bear-hug which was, sadly enough, the most love that I had gotten from anybody all day. "From what I hear, the players of England National have strengthened your vocabulary already." He grinned. England's players are known to have excessively dirty mouths, and I know that you believeit after hearing my increased lexicon.

I smiled back. "See Mum? Dad thinks that I'm an accomplished woman, even if you don't." I turned back to him. "I made alternate, you know. Not great, but not bad either. If I didn't make it, I was going to try out for Puddlemere. Or Pride, maybe."

My father laughed, and patted my head as he went to sit down. "That's my Kate, the accomplished woman. Congratulations are in order." He raised his glass in my direction, and downed the water inside without a pause. Now, why can't I drink like that, I ask you Alicia?

"Don't encourage her, Joseph", My mother snapped as she brought the food to the table, and then sagged into her own chair. She was probably jealous that she didn't get toasted. Ha, I say.

Connor shook his head suddenly. "Nah", he said assuredly, his face screwed up, for once not in boredom, but in concentration. "Nah, you wouldn't have tried out for Pride. I wouldn't have let you. Their keeper is mad, I tell you. Absolutely out of his head bonkers. Missed a shot, and hit his own head on the goal post on purpose once." My little brother was, himself, emerging into the world of quidditch and taking the place of my father, who had played "a year of two professionally" as keeper of the Arrows. Connor was just moved up as keeper of the Ravenclaw team in the past couple of months.

"That's right!", Ana interjected, and leaned forward. "Wilbur, or something to that effect? I've met him. Con is right. He is nuts." She nodded her head toward Dave, who nodded back. This made me wonder if Dave did or said anything for himself, and I decided to find out. I almost hated myself as I did.

"So Dave," I started, spooning mashed potatoes onto my plate, "What have you been doing all weekend? I'm curious to know." I passed the potatoes to Connor, who nearly missed the bowl and had my perfectly mashed potatoes splattered on his lap.

Dave looked anxious, and started stabbing at his peas with his fork. "Well, Katie, I…uh…", he looked to Ana, then back down to his plate, and then at me. I had just finished decorating my plate with gravy, and nearly succeeded in dumping the hot gravy boat on my brother's lap. He gave a yelp of surprise, and dropped it onto the table. My mother gave me a stern glare, and I leaned foreword and gazed at David with an absorbed look.

"I…I cleaned my flat?" He looked at Ana, and then to me. I shrugged. Why was he looking at me? "Did you?", I asked him, looking enthralled. "Dusted and everything?" My mom flicked my knee under the table. Which is no joke; she has always had long fingernails. But it's not as if I can control my sarcasm, you know Alicia. It comes and goes.

"Yes", Dave concluded, and shoved his fork (complete with three peas) into his mouth. Beside me my brother sniggered. Although I am not usually apt to do this, I had to agree with him. I would have rather been stuck at a table with Wilbur himself, whacking his bloody head on the table once for every pea eaten. Mad or not, it would have been much more interesting.

"How lovely!", My mother praised Dave, who couldn't answer, I'm sure, due to the fact that his mouth was so chock full. "You know, I wish that my children would clean their bedrooms! Imagine when they have an entire flat!" She giggled, tossing her black hair over her shoulder. Okay Mum, not funny.

Connor and I stared at her blankly, Ana snorted into her butterbeer, my father was inspecting a cut on the back of his hand, and Dave just looked from Ana, to my mother, and back again. I'm sure that he didn't know whether to laugh and suck up to my mother, or to shut up, and keep himself out of family scuffles. Dave settled for just nodding, and taking a gulp of his butterbeer.

Realizing that she wasn't being taken seriously (or un-seriously, for that matter), Mum just carefully blanked her face and looked to my brother. "Have you started packing, dear? I think that we need to get more boxes." She sawed at her roast beef, and looked at the clock above the fireplace idly.

Connor grunted, and paused in the middle of spooning food into his mouth long enough to answer. "No." He shook his hair off of his face, and then continued eating ravenously. How I envy him. Why can't I eat that fast? It must be his gift.

I tried to pull a George and raise an eyebrow, but ended up lifting both as well as wrinkling my forehead. Which was, I'm sure, unique looking, but that was no excuse for my sister to snort in laughter so loudly that she had to cover her mouth with a napkin.

"Isn't it a bit early to be packing for Hogwarts?", I asked, after I dropped the facial expression. All noise from around the table ceased, and everyone became very interested in their food. With the exception of poor David, who was still stabbing at those unfortunate peas, squeaking his fork against the plate.

"Not packing for Hogwarts", Connor mumbled between bites.

"Ah. Moving to the basement, then, are you Con? That's okay, I have plans for your room." Finally. I had been waiting so long for his request for his bedroom to be moved to the basement to be stamped with approval. I have collected so many pictures, you see Alicia, and planned to hang then on the walls—

"Not moving to basement", Connor spoke, irritated, around a piece of beef.

"You're not moving out, are you? Because that way I can have the basement _and_ your bedroom. It would be fantastic!" A dreamy look passed over my face. "I'm not sure what I will do with all the room, but I'm sure that Alicia and Angelina will have some ideas. Who was it that kicked you out? Mum or--" I was cut off by my extremely aggravated brother.

"We're moving, dammit Katie! You have to pack, too!" Conner bellowed this, as he slammed down his fork.

"What?", I choked out, dropping my utensils as well. "What? Where to? Why?" I cried that last bit. You know how much it hurts to be left out of a group? It hurt so much more being left out of a family decision. Dave the Inept Eater probably knew about it, judging by the pitiful look that he gave me.

"To Ireland. Now will you let me eat?" Connor didn't wait for me to answer and he went back to stuffing his face. I didn't blame him, anyway. He wouldn't have chosen to move, we live next door to his best friend. They listen to the wireless together, play Wizards' chess together, they are even both going into their 3rd year in Ravenclaw together. Emmy has the same attitude as he does, positive and always ready to wing-it. I don't know what he'll do without her.

As soon as I heard 'Ireland', I realized who it must have been who organized the move. I sprang up out of my chair and pointed a finger down at my mum. "It was YOU!", I screeched. "You don't want me to play quidditch here! I _have _to live here, Mum! If I move, then I'm ineligible to play. Even if I could, continental-apparating is even more dangerous than regular apparition!" I dropped my finger in a dejected way. "Mummy, how could you do this? You know that I have no money for a flat! You know that my friends already have room-mates!" My mum has wanted to move back home to Ireland since I was little, but my dad has always had the shop here. That and we're much closer to King's Cross Station, so we don't have to leave as early to catch the train.

Ana wasted no time in butting in. "Mum, tell Kate why we are moving back to Ireland. Just like I explained it to you." Her eyes narrowed at me, and she tilted her head towards mum. "Listen to her, Katie. You might learn something".

I looked back to mum, expecting her to tell me exactly why we were moving to Ireland, and she took a breath, and said in a monotone that was _clearly_ rehearsed (I mean, do I _look_ stupid, Alicia?): "We are moving to Ireland because I am moving out of the cookie-cutter patriarchal society and standing up for women's rights all over the wizarding world. It is important for a woman's needs and wants to be heard--"

I didn't let her finish, before I looked to my sister. I knew she was a feminist, protesting all sorts of things like laws and quidditch teams, and being assistant captain to the only all-female professional team in the world, but she didn't need to screw everything up for _me_. I looked over to my dad, who's bored expression looked identical to Connor's. Poor Dad. Looks as if he had lost this argument long-ago.

"You did this to me!", I cried. "You know that dad would do anything for mum!"

Her reply? "I'm only helping her to see that her needs need to be realized, and are just as important as Dad's." Let me tell you what, Alicia, my father treats my mum like a queen. Is it so bad that he just didn't want to move back to Ireland for about 22 years? He was, after all, born and raised in England.

"You brainwashed her, you mean!" was what I shouted, as I threw myself over the table. "You indirectly ruined my life, Ana! I hate you! I hate you! I have no where to live, and it's _your fault_!" As we both fell to the floor, Dave jumped out of his seat in order to avoid being hit. Ana hopped off of the floor and I followed suit

Ana had me on all counts, she was taller, stronger, and her arms were longer. My only advantage was that I was smaller, and as she tried to keep me at arms length by pushing on my shoulders, I managed to twist away.

I heard my mother gasp, "Katherine!", and my father yell, "Girls, that's enough!", but I really wanted to hurt Ana, Alicia. You must understand. In one fell swoop, I was rendered homeless. I still don't know why she didn't hex me, or why Mum or Dad didn't charm us to spring apart. They must have been as surprised at me as I was.

I only stopped trying to get at her when my brother (who had stopped eating in this time, imagine!), wrapped his arms around my body and pinned my hands to my sides. "Kate, calm down.", was what he muttered into my ear as he pulled me to the other side of the kitchen.

"Katherine!", My mother had a hand to her heart. "That was completely uncalled for! Your sister was only trying to help me when she suggested that I take a stand!" I struggled to get to Ana again, but Connor was strong. I have to hand it to him, Alicia.

"Katherine Bell, this is the last straw. I'm sorry to do this, but I am kicking you out of this house. That behavior was uncalled for. We're leaving in a week; I hope that you will have your things out of it by then."

My father looked alarmed. "Brenna, that is uncalled for, don't you think? Honestly, she's our own child!" His mouth was shut with a quick glance from my mother. Apparently he didn't want rumors about himself as a misogynist floating around. I could understand that. He gave me an apologetic glance.

"Fine!", I spat with distaste towards my mother as I wrestled myself out of Connor's arms. He went back to standing casually with his bored expression (My own mother, I'm telling you Alicia!). "I'm sleeping against the house tonight! And when the neighbors ask, tell them that you were standing up for women's rights when you sent me to sleep outside!" And with that, I stalked out the front door and slammed it shut behind me.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I let myself fall against the side wall of our wooden house. Fine, you know Alicia? If she wanted to kick me out, then I would sleep outside. No big deal. Not complaining about it would push her buttons even more, which was my aim anyway. The sun was just setting so there was plenty of light outside. I watched an owl fly overhead. It was almost calm.

It was only after about ten minutes that I realized that the only things I had eaten all day were a bit of toast in the morning, and a spoonful of mashed potatoes at dinner. I was too nervous to eat, after all, due to the roster being posted and things like that. I know, I know, Alicia. You are just thinking 'Why didn't you just apparate, Katie?'. I did not apparate, Alicia, because I felt as if I had something to prove. I'm not sure what I felt like I had to prove, but maybe it was to show my mother that _she_ was the one that was out of line.

Ah, well, maybe that wasn't entirely true. I actually planned just to go to sleep, wake up, and then go inside for some food. Play up the pity deal, you know? Poor Katie, starving to death outside in the June wilderness in England. Let's give her some waffles.

I had managed to doze off for a few moments, but was awoken by someone standing over me. Have you ever had that feeling that someone was incredibly close to you, but you can't explain why? That was why I nearly jumped out of my shoes, and tried to pull out my wand…

Which was unfortunately in my back pocket…which I happened to be sitting on. Thank God, Alicia, that it was only Emmy and not some crazy muggle or wizard.

Yes, it was Emmy, my brother's best friend. She is shorter than me, but she is one of those younger children that you see and immediately think of as angelic. She has long brunette hair and gray eyes, even though I couldn't see them as she was silhouetted against the sky. She is skinny, and a Ravenclaw chaser, which makes me like her even more. You've met her. You know. We chasers must stick together.

As I realized who it was, I relaxed and patted the ground next to me. In response, she just slid down the wall as I had done. "Hello Katie", she whispered (Why she was whispering? I don't know. Still don't.). "Connor sent me an owl. He wrote that you got kicked out. Why's that?" She looked up at me, and I wondered why I couldn't get stuck with a sweet sister like this.

I sighed and explained to her my situation. That we were moving, that I was playing quidditch, that my sister is a bitch. That I was homeless, especially. You know what I mean; I just wrote the entire thing out for you.

Emmy was a very appreciative audience, just so you know. She shook her head and gasped at all of the right places. "That's terrible! Ana should be the one in trouble!", she told me when I wound down. "I don't know what I will do during the summer hols without you next door." All of a sudden, she looked very sad. During the summer holidays, Emmy has been known for joining us for every single meal for weeks at a time. It's not that her parents didn't care; it's just that they were not around.

"You'll be fine, Emmy", I assured her and patted her on the shoulder a bit. You know, really supportive-like. I thought that I was doing a really fine impression of you, Alicia. "You know, there's always Floo powder. We have some. Connor can bring some to you, if you don't have any." I nodded knowledgably. I loved my Floo powder, but had recently forgotten to fill my pockets with it. Which brought about another thing that I had to remember to do.

Emmy looked relieved for a moment, and her eyes widened. But she didn't stay that way for long. She then looked extremely serious. "Which reminds me." She pulled out a bag that had been under her knees. I hadn't noticed it before, which made me feel pretty bad.

"Connor asked me to bring you this--", she handed me a pillow, "And this". She handed me a bottle of butterbeer. "He said that you probably wouldn't be able to conjure a pillow, because you were pretty mad--" And he was too right, Alicia. How does that kid know me so well? I still don't know if he drinks coffee or not. "But he also asks that you not look too much into it. He only asked me because he doesn't want to move, either. He would have brought them out himself, but your mum has him in his room for cursing."

I took the supplies and looked up at Emmy with a blank look. "He wrote that all in about ten minutes?" She nodded solemnly and sighed a bit. "He can write faster than anyone I know." I just nodded in agreement. Sometimes when I got home, I would find a two-page note shoved under my door jamb about what I needed to do that day. More of a threat, really, Alicia.

Emmy stood up abruptly and looked back down at me. "Need anything else, Kate?" She flung the bag over her shoulder and played with the end of her ponytail in a preoccupied fashion. I shook my head. I mean, what should I have said to her? 'Yeah, I'm good in the pillow and drink department, but do you think that you could get me some food?' No, that would have been extremely rude. Even I know that.

I cracked open the bottle and raised it toward her. "Thanks. I owe you a scrimmage. Cheers, Emmy." I grinned and took a sip. Emmy smiled shyly back. "No problem. Cheers, Kate." She spun on her heel and walked back toward her house, not pausing as she threw over her shoulder, "I'll hold you to that scrimmage, Katie. G'Night."

"Night Emmy", I called back.

Leaning against the house, I finished the butterbeer and watched the sun go down. Have you ever done that, Alicia? You don't have to be leaning against the house that you just got kicked out of, any house will do. It is a very peaceful feeling.

Setting the bottle on the grass beside me, I fell back onto the pillow. I don't remember anything else, so I must have fallen asleep as soon as my head hit it, or else passed out due to excess of butterbeer.

I'm going with the latter, Alicia. It goes better with my peaceful fantasy.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I was startled awake by a snapping noise. It had to be about seven in the morning, and no Alicia, I'm not ashamed to admit that I thought that it was my mother chopping away with her very sharp and effective butchers' knife. I sprang up out of sleep and managed to pull my wand. If all else failed, I knew a few good hexes.

My father grinned at me and continued pruning his beloved bushes. I lowered my wand once I realized who it was. The snapping that I had heard was his huge gardening clippers. I tell you, Alicia. If it's not one parent with the deadly instrument, it's the other. You had to live on your tiptoes in my house, you did.

"Good mornin', Kate", my dad ran a stick over the top of one bush to make sure that it was even. Like all good herbologists, he doesn't like to use magic on his plants. He calls it cheating. Certain that the shrubbery was as pristine as it was going to get, he stood up straight and dropped the clippers to the ground.

"Morning, Dad", I replied, and picked Emmy's pillow off of the ground. Hugging it to myself, I looked to our house and asked simply, "Is mum gone?". Back then, my mum worked as a wireless announcer for our area. She was well-liked, and Brenna Bell was a household name around our town. She had to apparate early on in the morning, and wouldn't get back until six or seven at night. We never felt sorry for her long hours, though. Much of it was lunch with witches and wizards who wanted to advertise on the radio, and such things. She charmed them well. She was good at it.

My dad nodded and ran a hand through his hair. "Look Kate, I'm sorry about all of this. It just seemed fair to agree to move back, topped with all the things that Ana has her spouting…" He shrugged. "What man am I to stand in front of women's rights in the wizarding world as we know it?". My poor dad smiled helplessly. "It will be easy to open up another shop in Ireland, anyway."

I felt sorry for him, more than anything, you know Alicia. I mean, it wasn't his fault that he loved his wife, right? I smiled back at him. "Yeah, Dad. I guess that it seems fair." I looked to the house. It was early, I was hungry, and wanted to take a hot bath. Do you blame me for not focusing on the situation at hand?

My father chuckled and gave me a gentle shove toward the house. "Go. I think Connor is making pancakes." Not only was my dad giving me permission to go inside, but there were pancakes in there! It felt like the happiest moment of my life. Grinning gleefully at him, I wasted no time in sprinting up the steps and throwing open the door to the house.

Slamming it behind me, I nearly skipped into the kitchen. You must understand, Alicia. I was practically wasting away! "Good morning, Connor. You look dashing today". I wasn't surprised that my brother was awake; he didn't like to sleep in. Isn't that strange, Alicia? I only remember him sleeping past eight once, and that was when he had pneumonia and didn't really care when he woke up.

Connor was standing at the stove holding a spatula and looking intently down into a pan. He looked briefly over his shoulder at me before answering drolly, "Hullo, Katie. Wish that I could return the compliment." How is that for kindness, eh?

I leaned against the wall next to the stove and looked pleadingly up at my brother. "Do you think that you could spare me a few? Please?". Begging was not beneath me, Alicia. The pillow was still clutched in my hands, and I squeezed it hopefully.

"There were only enough eggs to make four", He answered, concentrating so deeply that lines had formed on his forehead. My heart sunk, and I felt a sigh coming on. I looked into the pan and, sure enough, only four lone pancakes.

I watched my brother for a little bit. It was extremely comical. His face was one of utmost focus, his eyes were riveted onto the pan, and his arm was raised, spatula ready to strike. "Haven't you ever heard the expression 'A watched pot never boils', Con?" I asked in amusement.

"Yes, but I never understood it. Even if you _were_ watching it, it would have to boil sooner or later." The smile melted from my face. Freaking Ravenclaw. Sucked the fun out of everything. "But if you're applying it to the pancakes," Connor started, and I nodded in response, "There were only enough eggs to make four." He repeated. "I don't want to burn any."

Without warning, he sprang forward and quickly flipped a pancake over. I'm telling you, Alicia, I jumped about three feet. Seeing my expression, which I'm sure was not so pleasant, he laughed. "I told you I didn't want to burn any."

Lo and behold, the one that he had flipped over was a perfect golden brown. I rolled my eyes and thrust the pillow at him. "Make sure Emmy gets this back, won't you? I'm going to go pack." I noticed that he didn't say anything about writing the note to Emmy, so I took the lead from him. Alicia, I wasn't going to put Connor on the spot after he tried to help me. It just seemed too mean.

"Sure", Connor answered, and as I walked from the kitchen, I heard the violent scrape of the spatula against the pan.

Hopping up the stairs two at a time, I decided that a hot bath was just what I needed. Is there anything that can't be fixed with a good, long soak? After proving myself correct, that nothing couldn't be somewhat repaired after a bath, I swung open my bedroom door.

I always loved that bedroom, almost more than my dormitory at Hogwarts. Although the walls were white and plain, I had pasted posters and newspaper articles all over them throughout the years. Pictures that I sketched were tacked onto my closet, and they blew back when I opened my closet with a _'whoosh'_. Donned only in a towel, I slipped on the first pair of pants that I saw (Blue jeans, for posterity, you know), and the first shirt that I touched (Some yellow thing). I know that you don't approve of outfits chosen at random, but so far they have yet to fail me.

My room was fairly neat, and for the most part I knew where everything was. I pulled out the black duffle that Angelina got me a few years ago, and began stuffing robes into it. Mostly black, but a few of assorted colors. I added a few pairs of trousers, a few shirts, toiletries, a few underthings, and tada! The perfect 'kicked-out' bag. On a second thought, I threw in my quidditch robes. I didn't think I needed to bring my guards; one because I didn't believe in them, and two because I didn't think I'd _need_ them. I figured that we would only be playing scrimmages, anyways. And I ask you, Alicia, what beaters play for real during the scrimmages? None.

Pulling on a pair of sneakers and a regular open-front robe, I hefted the strap of my duffle over my shoulder. It threw me off balance, and I nearly stumbled into my bed. I tell you, Alicia, it was very, very heavy. I picked up my trusty Cleansweep 10, took a look about my room, and headed downstairs.

I wasn't really miserable, leaving that room, Alicia. After all, since England National players got Saturday through Monday free, I was just planning on coming back the next Saturday after I had found someplace to set up camp.

But what _was_ miserable, Alicia, was going down the steps with my bag. I could have used the levitation spell, and thought it through a moment, but then I would just have to reposition the bag again, since I was going by floo. No, I figured that it was less hassle just to carry it down.

I waddled through into the kitchen, where my brother was calmly eating his pancakes and reading The Daily Prophet. He looked up, then held up a finger as he finished reading an article. I waited patiently, watching the second hand move around the clock. I ask you, Alicia, what can be more important than one's own sister leaving? Because apparently it was in The Daily Prophet that Monday morning.

Finally, Connor looked up. "Where, exactly, are you going?" He skeptically asked. I mean, really, Alicia, is it so much to have a little bit of faith in your older sister? I rolled my eyes. "I'm going to triple-W", I answered with a sneer. "Everyone meets there to start their work-week anyway."

Connor looked toward the ceiling, then back down at me. "Whatever." He mumbled. "See you, then?" I nodded.

"Tell Emmy thanks again, won't you?", I told, more than asked, him. He, too, nodded in reply. "Good luck at practice, tomorrow." Connor called after me, as I shuffled from the room.

I passed my father in the hallway. "See you later, Dad", I told him simply, with a waggle of my broom (I couldn't wave). My dad responded with another bear hug, and a, "Love you, Kate", before appropriately lumbering into the kitchen. "How about some pancakes, son?", he suggested loudly. As I walked down the hall, I faintly heard Connor say something about eggs.

Shoving my way through the small doorway into the living room, I set down my broom to pick up the floo powder vase. It was quite ugly—bright green. My sister had made it years ago when she decided that she had wanted to be a clay artist.

In a quite rude manner, I opened up a robe pocket and emptied the great majority of the powder into it. Don't worry, Alicia. I didn't feel too badly about it. The fireplace in front of me was kept burning by magic at all times for floo reasons, even if it was as hot outside as it was that June. I could feel my face getting pink from the heat.

Shaking some into my hand, I replaced the vase on the mantle of the fireplace and picked up my broom. Yes, Alicia, this was a big step, but I thought nothing of it as I tossed the powder into the fireplace and the fire glowed a bright green.

"Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes" I commanded the Floo Network, before taking a deep breath and stepping into the flame.


	6. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: Finished this chapter at 11:59 p.m. ESTon 7/15/2005. I realize that now, many of you have probably bought HBP books already, and some may even read through the night (A couple of friends of mine included). Although I luff constructive criticism for the most part, I ask that you not review with inconsistancies from the 6th book (if there are any), as I will not be reading HBP until Tuesday night. I will, however, read reviews. And as I hate spoilers...yeah.You all understand it, no doubt._

_Right. Much thanks.Carry on._

Chapter 5

I've known the twins for years and years, Alicia. Anyone knowing them a fraction of the time that I have would have been cautious of any of the fireplaces that they owned. Oh, but no. Not me, Alicia. The only thing that I was thinking about was the fact that you all gathered in the back room of WWW every Monday morning without fail in order to greet the work week. Or at least to grumble about it to each other. What went through my head was 'The twins, Lee, Alicia, and Angelina will help me. No doubt. They'll have ideas for me.'

Not once did 'I had better watch my step when I floo, you never know with those Weasleys' come to mind. But it should have. I should have known better.

Off balance already from the weight of the duffle, I pitched forward out of the fireplace. But no, Alicia, it didn't stop there. I wondered why I kept falling, until I realized that in addition, I had tripped over a small box. I tried to stop myself from dropping onto the floor, that's why I let go of my broom. It wasn't planned that it would smack you over the head, honest.

As you screamed indignantly, I landed facedown on the sooty floor with a _'thump'_. I think that I realized, even then, with my nose meeting the ground so intimately, that there would be no mercy. This story would be told, with no doubt, to my children, and their children, and so on. Soon, in all of their memories, I would be just the woman who flooed 'n fell. Actually, that is rather catchy. I should probably slip that one to Fred. It's better than Fireplace Flier.

Rising to my knees, I shrugged the strap of the duffle off of my shoulder and sighed loudly. "Fred. George. When was the last time you cleaned that thing? It's filthy." I noisily complained and wiped the soot off of my face for effect. I heard you say something about the ash, and sure enough. My bath was all for naught.

It didn't even take a minute for them to start in on me. "Hello, Katie!", dreadlocked Lee grinned as he helped me up. His eyes were brighter than usual. "Dropping by, I see." I snorted, and a twin pushed him aside. "Falling all over us already, Bell? It's only eight in the morning!" He patted me on the back, mischievous Weasley grin in place.

The other Weasley mumbled something into his coffee cup. He was sitting at the desk across the room. Not that the room was big, but he was still across it. I leaned forward and narrowed my eyes. "What was that, again?" The Weasley also looked up. "Ho ho ho, Katie", He grinned cheekily, before returning to lounging in the chair and nursing the outsized cup of coffee.

I should have been able to identify the twins from the moment that I flooed in, but I hadn't managed it until that moment. When we were younger, I had the hardest time telling Fred and George apart. You could only be _somewhat_ sure once they opened their mouths. In the past few years, though, I've noticed a lot of differences about them. You just get good eventually. I'm naming them, so that you can learn the tricks of the trade, Alicia. You owe me loads of chocolate frogs for this, as you still guess. I know that you do.

For one, Fred is a morning person and George is a regular insomniac. I should have applied it to that day as soon as Fred came bounding up to meet me. He is up and ready to make mischief, sell pranks, and generally make you out-of-your-mind mad as soon as the sun comes up. Due to his high energy level all day, he is usually out of commission before midnight. George, on the other hand, would sleep until noon if you let him, and, if it is necessary for him to wake before then (Every Monday through Saturday the shop opens at nine), requires several large cups of coffee to force himself into consciousness. But George can easily manage to stay up into the early hours of the morning. I know, because I've witnessed it.

There are also many little things that set them apart. Fred's hair is always a bit on the messy side; George's hair is, more often than not, neat. Fred has a mole on the inside of his left elbow; George doesn't. And when they both grin mischievously, Fred has a funny way of tipping his head a bit to the side. Those are, sadly enough, the only physical things that I have ever been able to pick out.

Other than that, if one of them is babbling on at you, it is a safe bet that you're talking to Fred. George bites his lip when he's concentrating; Fred squints his eyes and paces around a bit. Fred's humor is more in the blowing things up category; while George is wittier. And in the rare even that they wrestle over an argument, George almost always wins.

Yes. Well. Like I said, Alicia. Loads of chocolate frogs.

I rolled my eyes at George and went to take my broom from you. As I gripped my broom, you gave me an odd look. "Moving in?", you whispered. No, Alicia. I wasn't planning on moving anywhere then. But you only let it go once I shook my head.

"Lookit!", Lee hooted, grinning. "Alicia's jealous!" He pointed at Fred. "You get the box. I'll push her over it." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively towards you. You looked exasperated. Slightly amused, though. I know you will try to deny it, but I know you Alicia.

Fred wasted no time in kicking the package in front of you. "Now remember, you have to throw the broom and _then_ fall. Throw it to Forge, he'll catch it." George replied by waking out of a doze at the sound of his nickname, and then promptly closing his eyes again.

You shoved them off, and handed me the broom for good. "So what _are_ you doing here? I thought you weren't for mornings". I sighed, but thankfully was interrupted. Oh, Angelina. How I owe her.

"Morning, everybody!", A cheerful voice entered the room. We looked over as Angelina slammed shut the door. Dressed in her quidditch robes, she looked the picture of a successful woman. Damn. That only made me feel worse. First you, then her, then Katie Bell, professional bum.

She stopped short when she saw me, and blinked slowly before adding with the same cheerful voice: "'Ello Katie. You've got a bit of…" She tapped her nose. I furiously scrubbed at it with the sleeve of my robe. It was nice of you to tell me that I had soot on my face still, Alicia. "What brings you around so early?". You know, I nearly rolled my eyes, Alicia. I mean, all I needed was for Lee and Fred to ask.

I sighed and, perching myself on the edge of the desk, told them exactly why I was there early. I began with the sentence, "I got a bit kicked out of my house." A mocking grin spread across Fred's face, and Lee looked disbelieving. Thank God for the bit of sympathy that I got from you and Angelina, Alicia. Or else, who knows what I would have done.

So once again, I told the story. For the second time in about twelve hours. It was becoming a bit more real to me each and every time. I was actually becoming a tiny bit nervous. I was wondering what I would do if none of you had space for me to use. Not even a closet. I ended with a hopeless sigh, and an: "So I don't have anywhere to live." There. Bait, you see. I have a tendency to be clever sometimes.

I looked down at George, expecting to see him with his head down and sleeping, but he looked up at me, eyebrow raised of course, and held out his coffee. "You need this more than I do." Was what he said, though it didn't seem as if he was too happy about it. I took it gratefully, and thanked him enormously, adding a "Ta, George", and raising the cup towards him. You can not possibly imagine how much I needed that coffee, Alicia. It made life worth living, just having it.

Fred whistled and Lee still looked at me as if I was delusional. I suppose that it may have been a bit odd. But there is no excuse to look at your friends like that, I say. Angelina gave me a little hug, and you just smiled assuredly.

"Kate, dearest, you can say with Stephanie and I. There is plenty of room. As long as the sofa is alright." I nodded fervently. You had made my day, Alicia. It was better than the coffee by a long shot. "I owe you, anyway." You added, and I grinned. Yes, you did owe me. That Christmas Holiday that I had to watch your cat was the most miserable of my life (thus far). I still have a bit of a scar on my shoulder.

It was so miserable, in fact, that you still owe me.

Lee clapped his hands and rubbed them together a little bit. "Now that that is settled, Katie, who do you put your money on to win tonight's scrimmage? It's on the WWN, I'm not announcing this one. Pride or Arrows?". Angelina protested wildly, her Pride of Portee uniform told all. "Don't you bet against me, Kate."

My answer was interrupted by a loud banging on the door of the shop. We all jumped out of our skins. I couldn't see the door or window from my seat on the desk, due to the door to the back of the shop,but I wondered who could be so rude.

Fred wondered too, apparently, because he jumped up and shouted, "Closed! Come back in an hour!". At the sound of Fred's annoyed voice, George jerked out of sleep, his head settled on the desk. " 'S time already?", He asked, surprisingly cognizant. I told him to go back to sleep, but then the pounding began again.

"Weasley! Open up!" The voice bellowed. Somehow it sounded a bit familiar, but I couldn't place it. I figured that I was right on the money in guessing that it was a "friend" of the twins. Probably someone that they pissed off, you know, Alicia. There have been so, so many. Fred narrowed his eyes, and went to the front of the shop. I don't know what he was planning on doing, but he never got the chance.

I heard the door creak open. I suppose that Fred must have been speechless, because I didn't hear him say anything at first. That had to be a first for me, hearing Fred so incapable like that.Fred was never speechless. Then, I heard the door bang shut. Fred finally growled a, "C'mon."

I watched as a disgruntled Fred pushed open the door to the office. I wondered how he could go from being so happy toupset in a few seconds, but stopped wondering as I saw the person follow him into the room.

With a stubborn glance, I drained the rest of George's coffee. I was going to need it.


	7. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: You know, I am really sorry that I keep cramming these in here. I really am. Last one. _

_I just wanted to let everyone know that I will be going out of state tomorrow night and will not get back until the morning of 7/25, and will probably be too exhausted to write then. This is the last chapter until then, sorry it's short, but I wanted to give everyone a satisfying pause until next Monday or Tuesday or whenever. At which time it will continue._

_I also, at this time, would like to plug my profile, in which I answered a 'Question from Fandom' and took about half of an hour typing it up in neat, outline-fashion, but all work was for naught when lined it up on the left side. It's pretty sweet though. is done plugging self now_

_Right. Thanks. Carry on._

Chapter 6

"Katie, coffee is terrible for you. You know it, too." Was the first thing that Ana felt the need to criticize,upon entering the back room of WWW.

I have to admit, all I was able to do after draining that coffee cup was blankly stare at her. Ana. My SISTER was invading MY TURF. I couldn't fully comprehend why Ana was visiting me and my friends at the shop that was _owned _by my friends, after she was the reason that I had to sleep outside the night before. Once again, you got lucky in the sibling department.

Did she think that I would, honestly, be happy to see her? Because I wasn't. Happy to see her, that is. Which I'm sure that you all could see, Alicia, due to the scowl on my face.

Trying not to crumble the cup in my clenching hands, I slammed it down on the desk. George jumped. Honestly, Alicia. Who would even have the nerve to do what she did?

"What are you doing here? Why couldn't you wait until tomorrow?", I spat through clenched teeth. Fred grew more attentive and Lee leaned against the wall. You know how they get when they perk up. It's as if they can tell that someone is about to get their head bitten off. More Lee than the twins, though.

Nothing makes Lee happier than a good fight.

My sister jutted her hip out and placed her fist upon it. "Don't flatter yourself, Katherine", she said calmly. This should have been a clue. She was calm. You always need to be suspicious when she is not protesting something. She had her Harpies Sweater on, and a bag hung over her shoulder. It amazed me that she could just go to practice like it was any other day. "I didn't know where you would be tomorrow. But I knew you were here this morning. Connor told me."

My eyes narrowed and I made a mental note to try harder to dump the gravy boat on my brother's lap next time. It was terrible how betrayed I felt, Alicia. "Git", was what I muttered before slouching off of the desk and mimicking her pose. Alicia, I tell you, that pose that she always stands in? It makes you feel powerful. You should try it sometime.

Ana's neutral face struck me as she threw her bag to the floor and began rummaging around. Out came her beaters' bat, a shoe, a ribbon (Who carries a ribbon in their quidditch bag? It's not very threatening.), and finally, a hand full of arm and shin guards.

"I am trying to help you out here, Kate. We didn't get a chance to talk last night," No kidding. "So I never got to tell you what to expect with England National." I looked at her doubtfully and wondered why she was helping me out. Was it so wrong to wonder why my sister was helping me? I mean, she had never played with England National, either.

Ana swept her dark hair over her shoulder and, with the guards in one hand, began ticking off points on the other. With each point, she gave her head a little bob. "First off, don't ever be late. Second, don't disrespect players who have played nationally longer than you, unless you want to be challenged to a duel." A grim realization passed through my head, as I realized that I could never talk back to anyone. I'd be flattened in a duel in moments flat. That would be the hardest part of playing nationally, I predicted. You giggled, and Lee and Angelina exchanged an amused glance. No one thought that I saw. But I did. Oh yes. I did.

"And third", Ana threw the guards to the floor by my feet with an air of arrogance. "Always wear those. Thompson doesn't play by league scrimmage rules." I narrowed my eyes in thought toward the pile of gear, and then up toward Ana again. She honestly thought that I needed them?

"Don't you—" I started, but was cut off by a wave of her elegant hand. Always Elegant, Alicia. That was my sister. "I have my bat. Wear them, Kate, or dad will never forgive me." I noted that she didn't mention mum after the row that had taken place. I couldn't decide if this was tactful, or thoughtless. I settled on the nice neutral ground of unwitting. A nice, neutral ground in which you happen to be working on your tan much of the year, Alicia.

Just kidding, dear. I'm keeping you on your toes.

I rolled my eyes in a Weasley imitation, and sighed. "Fine. Whatever." I muttered, and something hit me in the face. I thought myself foolish that I had believed that our fight was over like that. That we could just forget about it as if nothing had ever happened. Gred and Forge chortled in all of their Weasley glory and Lee whooped.

To my shame, I yelped, and spastically pulled off the object. It was my cloak. The one that Connor had thrown over the hook for me after I was late. Ana sighed and brushed a lazy hand in my direction, speaking to Angelina. "I tell you, my sister is so forgetful." She said that, Alicia. Do you remember? To Angelina. I thought that I would die.

I turned red. I believed that I had found the reason that she had apparated down here, and that it was solely to humiliate me. Ana grinned at me and began to turn away. "Almost nine, dear. Can't be late for practice. Air kiss, can't ruin the makeup." My, I'm ashamed to say it, _sister_ puckered up her lips and smacked them in my direction with acute punctuation and picked up her bag at the same time.

I sighed in return and nodded. I have never been able to force myself to 'air kiss' someone. It is too ridiculous, Alicia. I don't care if you have picked it up or not. I say if you want to kiss someone, kiss them full out.

As Ana prepared to swing the back door shut behind her, she looked over her shoulder, and called out, "Check the front pocket, Kate! Tell me what you think later!" before she disappeared behind the oak.

Afraid for my life, my wardrobe, and most especially my future well-being, I reached hesitantly into my pocket. And pulled out…A crumpled piece of parchment. I frowned. I was expecting something a little more dramatic of my sister. Lights, in the least.

Pulling it apart between my fingers, I read aloud:

_Kate; Dave proposed! Of course I told him that I can't be forced into a traditional marriage due to the low involvement of married women in the wizarding world, and that I must represent these silent few. That was the first thing. But I am moving into his flat! Congratulate me! Love, Ana _

"Oh God", I groaned aloud, joined in by a few. Who was that, Alicia? I've always remembered Angelina specifically, but who else groaned? I don't think that it was you, was it? I looked over to Fred, who was pulling himself out of his leisurely position, and telling George that he had better wake up, because it was time to open shop.

George's eyes snapped open from their dreamlike gaze, and he lurched out of his chair. Suddenly, he was awake and ready to go. I do idolize his ability to do that, I really do.

You took this moment of confusion to grab me by the arm and take my broom. "C'mon." You said, as you ushered me toward the back good of WWW, barely giving me time to collect my duffle. "There's just enough time to acquaint you with my couch."

Before we had time to make our goodbyes ("They'll be here when we get back", you promised), you had steered me quickly toward the door. I kicked it open, and before it had time to stick all the way in the jamb, I heard Fred and George loudly and enthusiastically greeting their first customers as if it wasn't nine in the morning and as if one of them hadn't just woken up.

Which it most certainly was and one of them mostdefinitely had.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Your couch is quite nice, Alicia. Always has been. So I can safely say that I was very comfortable with spending that first night on it. Even if I did have to wake up at four thirty in the morning for quidditch practice, it still beat sleeping against a house any day and being awoken to a frightening chopping noise.

Instead, I was awoken by your 'trusty alarm clock' which, as you know, you lent to me for my early-morning risings. I'm not sure which I hated more; that infernal buzzing racket or getting up early in the morning. It is very close, Alicia. But I'm sure that you know that.

After stumbling blindly out of the bathroom and grabbing my duffle, I snatched up a muffin and hurried out of your flat, lest the sound of my yawning wake you up. I was only thinking about you, you know.

But I wasn't, however, thinking about you or I, or anyone else for that matter, when I decided that it was a must for me to apparate to a field near the stadium. Closing my eyes, and clutching both the duffle on my shoulder and my muffin in my hand, I concentrated on the grass by the side of the field. You know. The three D's: Determine, Dare, Die. Or something to that effect.

And lo and behold! Two nearly perfect apparitions in forty-eight hours! I cannot explain to you how important that apparation was, Alicia. I needed it. It was a bit of a self-esteem make or break for me.

I didn't bother to pause as I flew toward the locker rooms. Practice started at six, it was five-thirty and I still hadn't changed. Or eaten my muffin. The large wooden door was just swinging shut behind me when I realized something that would later, as you know, become a very very big mistake.

I had forgotten to grab my broom on my way out.

The locker room was very loud around me, thirteen other players either stumbled blindly around or had that twitchy 'wired-on-coffee' look that used to adorn George's face every morning before he built up such an immunity to the caffeine. I don't even think more then two of them looked up when I went into a mad shouting and cursing fit with myself. Honestly Alicia. I couldn't even look competent the first day on the pitch! It was terrible.

As I threw my duffle into my locker (Labled 'Bell, Katie'), I noticed that one of the players that had looked up at my entrance was still watching me with an interested eye. Two lockers away from mine, a petite girl tied her long and dull brown hair into a knot at the back of her head before holding her hand out to me. I looked warily at it. I mean, wasn't this what Ana had warned me about? Wait, what _had _she warned me about? It slipped my mind already.

Must have been the broom polish fumes. You know how those are, Alicia. I know that they used to get to you a lot during our Hogwarts years. And I'd rather you didn't deny it.

Haphazardly passing my muffin from one hand to the other, I shook her hand and looked down at her. She looked like she could barely pass as thirteen. In fact, she looked as if Emmy could be her mother.

"Hullo", I said, in what I hoped was a voice that could be interpreted as, 'What are you doing here? Junior leaguers don't practice full-pitch.' But no such luck. The girl just smiled and grasped my hand in a surprisingly tight grip.

" 'lo. Katie I presume? I'm Patricia, alt seeker. Don't call me Patricia, though. Too fancy for my taste. Pat or Patty will do just fine." For such a small person, she certainly had a lot to say. Letting go of my hand, she leaned closer and added in an aside, "I read about you in the paper a couple of months ago. If you go mad during practice, I'll explain it to Jonathan."

She nodded reassuringly and patted my shoulder a little bit. I gave her a weak grin in return, and my eyes blurred a bit. You know why, Alicia? I couldn't even get a bit of a new start among perfect strangers. "Greatly appreciated", I forced in a strangled voice.

Pat nodded, and waved cheerfully to someone on my other side. Before I could even turn to get a good look at the waivee, someone grabbed my hand a pumped it up and down not in an unkind way. I think that you can safely understand why I do not like being grabbed by people that I don't know, Alicia.

I yelped, and spun around to face a witch who was a little bit taller than me. Wide smile, hair cut short, stocky and muscular build, she looked a few years older than my sister. "Mornin'! I'm Mel. Excuse Pat, she doesn't usually like to talk to strangers." Her voice was deep, but pleasantly so. I almost felt welcome as it echoed around inside of my locker.

Wincing at the way that my arm was bent, I disengaged myself from the witch who called herself Mel. "Katie…Well, I--" I never got a chance to finish exactly what I was going to say, because a shadow loomed over me. Needless to say I don't much like shadows either. Pat's smile faded and Mel rolled her eyes.

It didn't matter whether I was interrupted or my voice dropped off, because I had come face to face with the most handsome man in existence. Ever. Of course I had seen pictures, Alicia. You have, too. But if you ever saw him in person (Have you?), than you would know that none of them hardly do him justice.

Jonathan Lowe was tall, grey eyed, and a scruffy blonde. And he was looking at me! Right at me! Well, at an outer extremity of myself, at any rate. Jonathan the most handsome man in existence was eying the muffin in my hand. My most privileged muffin!

I think that I stopped breathing when he said, in a voice smooth as honey, "Can I have that? Because I forgot to eat this morning." No matter that the sensible part of my brain was asking 'What kind of man forgets to eat in the morning?' No matter at all. Because it took every ounce of willpower that I had ever summoned to keep from shouting, 'Yes! Take this muffin! Take my virginity! Take my firstborn child!' No matter that my virginity was no longer up for grabs and that I didn't plan on having children even in the near future.

Instead, I shrugged, and answered coolly, "What? This muffin?". Of course this muffin! I shrugged again and did you proud Alicia:

"Yeah, I guess so." I shrugged again, before tipping it into his hand. Jonathan winked, told me that I would make a fine quidditch player and that he was proud to have me on his team, before walking away. I'm still impressed. He could tell that all from just a muffin.

Imagine what sort of divination could have been accessible, had I given him a danish!

Pat giggled in a juvenile way, and Mel looked less thrilled. Much less. I just watched Jonathan's back as he strode through the locker room. Alicia, that man is worth his weight in Galleons.

A small fellow walked purposefully in my line of sight. "Katherine, I presume?" Was what the simpering young man said to me. Pale, skinny, and plain, he almost offended me after eye-candy Jonathan. I looked blankly at him for a moment. I mean, who wouldn't? My mother is the only person who calls me Katherine. No one else in the bloody world has that right. She wouldn't even have it if it wasn't she who birthed me. Not only that…but I mean, who talks like that, Alicia?

He held out a hand, and I looked at it a moment. I know that you are reading this thinking that he meant for me to shake it, but his intention was for me to kiss it! It was palm down, propped daintily in the air. Alicia, I was not going to kiss his hand! I rolled my eyes back up to his face and chanced a stab at his identity.

"Eddie Robbins?", I asked with a disrespectful scowl. Ana's rules were out the window now. I heard Pat giggle in her squeaky voice, but turn it into a cough after Robbins cut a glare her way. "Edward J. Robbins the _third _to you", he snapped, snatching his hand out of midair, where he had been holding it.

Turning on his heel, _Eddie_ pirouetted around Mel's bag. Leaning in close to a girl whose hair was obnoxiously strawberry-blonde and dead straight, he whispered something in her ear. The girl laughed, looked back at me, and giggled a bit more.

Honestly. She giggled. How sophomoric! She looked about the same age as Ana, too! I think we stopped giggling behind people's backs fourth year. Except for those few times after. I loathed her immediately. The back of her robe said FLETCHER, I noted, in case I took up beating and needed target practice.

Still only half focused, I hardly remember taking my robes out of my locker and yanking them over my head. What I do remember, though, was the loud smack that my head made against the locker as I struggled with the heavy cloth. I yelped, and a strong hand tugged on the material, pulling it down over my head.

As I straightened myself out, I turned myself around, trying to identify the person who had more or less helped me. A man leaned against Pat's locker, chuckling in a frightful way. As our eyes locked, I noticed that he had a wild air about him. His eyes rolled over me in a mad way that could alarm anyone. I reared back and tripped on the hem of my robes. I was a disaster that day, Alicia. I really was. But can you blame me?

The embarrassing part was that the only way that I cheated near-death (Or receiving a severe beating by the lockers opposite of me. Have what you may.), was that I was caught from behind. Maybe it was too many people touching me at once, maybe it was that I had gone without my muffin, maybe it was just that I had woken up too early in the morning, but at any rate, I leapt from the grasp of the person behind me and backed up until I could feel the cool metal of my locker behind me.

The man who was leaning against Pat's locker, who was plain-as-day nutters, shot a nasty sneer my way. "Bell, eh? Related to Ana, yeah?". He studied me a bit, and I felt myself leaning away, softly bumping into Mel. His slang was harsh, and I cringed. "You don't look it. Not near'ly as pretty."

As if to prove his point, he swung open his own locker door (posted; Thompson, Brian). There, attached to the inside, was my sister's most recent individual team photo. Standing gracefully dressed in Harpies sweater and boots, she blinked demurely, and barely swayed as she flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder. Poor bloody excuse for a feminist.

I was at a loss for words, but needn't have said anything, as my savior spoke up in a cool voice. "I have an idea where I can shove your broom for you, Thompson. Better not tempt me; Lowe won't be too happy if he's got to help you pry it out first half of practice." I looked up. A man, taller than most, loomed above the small group. His hair was shades lighter than even mine (Very, very pale, Alicia. Take my word for it.), and his eyes were a soft green. He was gathering things out of a locker that I assumed was his (marked: Bonnet, Laurent).

Thompson barely moved for a moment, the two men just held each other's stare until Thompson finally broke it. He grumbled something under his breath, and grabbed his broom just as Jonathan (Gift to the World) threatened us onto the field with colorful language. I didn't mind, in case you're wondering, Alicia. Anything sounded good coming out of his mouth.

Mel patted my shoulder, grabbed her equipment and trundled out onto the field. I realized that being patted on the shoulder must be a big thing around that pitch. She was closely followed by Pat. I didn't return with anything, just stood and stared blankly at the duffle in my hand. I was deciding whether to put on the guards my sister had given me. These people didn't seem too dangerous so far. As I decided against the bulky guards, I felt something being shoved into my hands.

Laurent was pushing a broomstick at me and slamming the door to his locker shut at the same time. "Notice you don't have one." He nodded, and smiled. "I have an extra. You can borrow it." I thanked him thoroughly. I mean, did anyone that you just met ever lend you something as expensive as a broom? I think not! Had better take advantage, you know. I trailed after Laurent onto the field.

It was dark still, and a bit dewy. But it smelled like freshly cut grass and paint and broom polish. I would have stopped to admire it more, but I didn't want to risk the rest of them thinking me a dork, and because Jonathan was barking orders. I tell you, when that man tells you to so something, you do it.

"All right. First practice, and most of you are returning. Mel, Brian, Devon, Janni. I know how you work. But I haven't seen the rest of you fly except at tryouts. Scrimmage today. First stringers versus Alts." I, myself, was disgusted at his butchering of the word Alternates. It was almost as if he was too lazy to attach the other two syllables. You know… What's the use? Just drop them.

"Full pitch. League rules. No wands, no fouls." He continued, looking around our fourteen player huddle. "I'll toss up, snitch gets a twenty-second head start." Around me, heads were bobbing in agreement. "All right." Jonathan clapped his hands together. "Alts on my right side, first stringers on my left." Just like that, Alicia. So unceremoniously.

I shuffled to join the alternate chasers on the mid-pitch line, taking care not to drag Laurent's broom in the mud. In all of our scuffling about, I had barely noticed that Jonathan had let go of the snitch. Pat had, though, and was watching it with a practiced eye.

I was stuck in-between Laurent and Carlos, a shorter man with a cheerful face, and our two beaters were behind us. It was fairly unnerving, the fact that I had to trust these two with my well-being. You know, I hardly knew them. It was always different with the twins covering my behind.

Even farther behind the beaters, Pat and our keeper Zachary Green looked as if they were conversing under their breath. Pat was drawing lines in the air with her fingers, and Zachary was shaking his head fervently. Their conversation was drawn to a quick close as Jonathan blew his whistle sharply, and we kicked off of the ground. He gave the bludger box a sound thump with his foot and it sprang open.

Barely pausing to duck a bludger that whizzed back around to try smack him (So fearless, Alicia.), Jonathan gave the quaffle a hearty throw in the midst of us chasers before kicking off the ground himself.

Nathalie, a pretty girl who could be Angelina's sister, was first to scoop up the quaffle. Keeping it not even for a few moments, she threw it vigorously toward Eddie. Eddie reminded me of Dave in the way that he was more thana bit twitchy. As soon as he saw the quaffle coming his way, he threw his arms about his head and let the red ball fall past him. How many chasers do that, Alicia? I still can't believe his meek temperament.

In a quick sweep, Carlos picked it up and lobbed it toward Laurent. That was probably the time that I heard the first ear-splitting smack of bludger meeting bat. As you know, in scrimmages, it is perfectly legal to try and knock people off of their brooms. But it is not legal, however, to try and _kill _them. While Hank and Alex, our alternate beaters, as well as Mel were using the time for marksmanship practice and hitting the bludgers harmlessly into space, Brian Thompson was trying the take the heads off of my alternate team members.

I know, Alicia! How stupid can you get? EVERYONE involved in the quidditch process knows that during scrimmages you _don't want to hurt your own teammates! _Alternates are often used for whatever reason. The thing that confused me the most was that Jonathan, sweet sweet Jonathan, wasn't even doing anything about it! He was just circling above the pitch in a drowsy way.

He didn't even react when Laurent half-heartedly passed the quaffle toward me in an attempt to duck a murderous bludger that would have broken his jaw. Honestly!

That was when Brain targeted me the first time. As I sped toward the goals, a bludger hit me hard between the shoulder blades. I winced and the quaffle dropped out of my hands. Nathanial Hughes, a lanky young man preferring to be called Nate, shouted an apology towards me as he chased after the bludger and lightly knocked it away from the flurry of activity.

In the meantime, however, Nathalie had caught the quaffle once again and had tossed it towards 'Fletcher'. The daft girl fumbled around with it for a bit before it slipped from her grasp. I saw a look of annoyance on poor Nathalie's face, she seemed like the only first string chaser who was capable of controlling a quaffle.

Again, Carlos saved it, and tossed it towards Laurent, who was positioned closer to the goals than I was. I watched as he tossed it in easily, but couldn't even whoop in celebration, as a bludger had smashed into the side of my face.

It was bad, Alicia. Worse than when I was in my second year and got beamed in the back of the head. That was my first bad quidditch injury, too. Everyone said that it got better after the first good thumping, but this proved that it absolutely wasn't true.

My mouth dropped open and I gasped in pain. I hadn't even had the quaffle! Even though it technically wasn't illegal, it was pretty damn close. In the distance, I heard the piercing shriek whistle and an order to touch ground. Someone put their arm around me, and had towed me downward. I later found out it was Carlos.

As we got closer and closer to the grass, I heard shouting. I was enough in my right mind to watch as Hank, a very boxy, and muscular man, bellowed at Thompson and shook his bat in his direction. Nate and Mel had their arms crossed and hands on their hips respectively, and looked terribly unhappy. Brian didn't even have the decency to 4look chagrined, just kept replying in an even voice that he thought that I was receiving the quaffle.

Jonathan didn't even add anything to the fight, as he had his arm around Janni Fletcher's shoulders and was listening to the girl recount her story about how the quaffle had smashed her fingers into her broom handle. I was so mad that I could spit, Alicia. Poor girl, I felt like whimpering. The snitch was fluttering in Jonathan's hand. Ah, so he hadn't called the scrimmage for Thompson's bludger-happy ways.

I was angry even before Eddie sauntered over and started telling his version about how Nathalie had nearly bashed his skull in when she passed the ball to him.

Maybe it was Eddie's whiny voice that set me off. Before I knew it, I had pushed up the sleeves of my robes and was on my way over to Thompson. I paused long enough to ram Laurent's broom into his own grasp, but didn't stop there. I narrowed my eyes, and walked past the group of stunning Nathalie, Devon, a bald and optimistic man, Zachary, looking about my age with a head of brown curls, and minute Pat.

I reached Thompson just as Hank had begun to back off, square face red and unhappy. Thompson's wold eyes locked onto mine and he smiled.

Maybe his taunting leer was what had made me do it. Jump him, that is, Alicia. Without warning (I hadn't even seen it coming) I shoved him. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised at myself, though. Fighting is second nature for me. If wands were legal on the pitch, I would have had it out and had him begging for mercy. Or at least blasted him with that curse we learned in the DA. But as it was, I had no lines of defense against the nutter other than myself.

Which was why, seconds later, Thompson attempted to strangle me. With his hand around my throat, I tried not to gasp for air. I can tell you, though, Alicia. It was hard not to panic. My hand balled into a fist and I heard Pat shouting at someone to break it up.

But no need, Alicia. We, the famed Gryffindor chasers, have been able to hold our own on the pitch against trolls like Flint, Warrington, and Montague for ages. I knew how to handle the situation, even if pure dumb luck wasn't on my side for once. How did I know it wasn't on my side? Probably the fact that I was slowly turning an interesting shade of purple.

Drawing back my arm, I got an impressive hit right to Brian's nose. He let go of me and stumbled back. Jonathan was at his side in a moment. I had my hands on my knees, and my head hung forward. My hair flipped in my face, but I didn't move to brush it away. You know the position. The one I take when I'm trying not to hyperventilate or kill someone. It was the latter that I'm mentioning here.

Mel clapped me on the back. "Serves him right", she told Jonathan, whose face was turning red. Exactly like when your brother wants to yell something really loudly, but is forcing himself to hold it in. Just like that, Alicia.

"Off the pitch, Bell", Jonathan sputtered, as I straightened up. Guess I shocked him, attacking a man who had at least a half foot on me. "Lockers. Shower. Cool Down." He seemed to only speak in nouns, though it didn't make him any less alluring. "Come back tomorrow."

Normally the things that give a girl a feeling of accomplishment are incredibly simple. You know, a new set of dress robes, flowers, cuddling with the boyfriend of the week/month/year, a good joke. I'm the same as any other woman, don't get me wrong. But at that moment, I don't think that anything could have squelched the warm fuzzies inside as I watched Thompson squirm, howling under his breath and holding his face like he was growing a horn.

Jonathan had a hand on Brian's shoulder, and for the first time, I realized that the two of them must be friends. Poor, poor Jonathan. I guess because he was as good looking and sweet as he was, he needed an arsehole friend to balance it out. I suppose I could understand that.

It's kind of like you and me. Except with you being the fashion freak, me being the girl who doesn't care, and us doing away with the arsehole part altogether.

And so, with a wink toward Brian, and a raspy (For I had just had my larynx crushed, you must understand), "Try anything funny with the bludgers again, and _I'll_ show you where to shove your broomstick.".

I threw my shoulders back, and, in the best Ana imitation I could manage, walked gracefully off the pitch. But I heard them alright. I heard Pat's shout of laughter, Thompson's angry muttering, and a wolf-whistle that I'm sure came from Laurent.

And that, Alicia, is how I first became dead-bent on becoming a first stringer. It is also how I was thrown off the pitch for the first time in my life.

But, most importantly of all, it was how I turned up in Diagon Alley at precisely nine twenty-five in the morning, dressed in jeans and a tank top, bag slung casually over my shoulder with my hair still dripping wet from my shower.

Maybe it was because I didn't have access to your house, or perhaps it was because it was lonely. Heck, possibly I even found myself missing the buzzing activity of the twins. But at any rate, I ended up at the front door of WWW, angry bruises and all.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Sometimes, trying to get through the doorway of WWW is like trying to hold your own breath until you suffocate: Bad for your health, stupid, and generally impossible. But that morning, it was fairly slow. I even got in without having to threaten anybody and without putting myself through more bodily harm.

I proclaimed it a good day right as I walked through the door, ignoring the U-No-Poo sign. I swear, Alicia, that thing lost it's novelty a few months ago.

Although it was muggy outside, WWW was comfortably cool. A few people were milling about inside, I'm sure they were happy to be able to take life lightly for a bit. You know how it is anymore.

I ignored the whines of children and the shouts of excitement and headed straight back to the front desk. Normally, when it's bustling and busy and there's hardly any room in which to move about, Fred and George strut about self-importantly and demonstrate their products. I took a wild guess and figured that they weren't today; it was too empty and too early.

Bingo. The first head of flaming-red hair that I saw was lounging behind the counter. Fred, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, was leaning over the counter ever so casually. With his cheek resting in his palm, his bright-brown eyes slid over everyone in the store, passing right over me. And then doing a double-take.

If I wasn't still in a foul mood, Alicia, I might have laughed. Fred's mouth dropped open, and he straightened up rather quickly, hitting himself on the door of the open cabinet above him. We both winced, (I must have felt the pain vicariously, you see) and he hunkered down once again, slapping a hand on top of his head.

"I always knew that you were the graceful one, Fred", I rasped, forcing myself to walk closer. My feet didn't want to; I was exhausted, in pain, and starving. Bloody Jonathan for being so good looking.

Fred attempted a wisecrack, what the Weasleys were known for after all, "Thinking of joining the ballet, I--", but dropped the effort as he slammed shut the cabinet with an angry open palm. "What did you do? Run into a bludger?" He narrowed his eyes. "It was Thompson, wasn't it, Kate? Say the word, and he'll--" I didn't let him finish.

As it was, Alicia, he was grinding his teeth. Another trait that sets the twins apart, but one that I'm sure that you've noticed. Seeing as it's always Angelina and the two of us restraining them in some way when they get angry.

Instead, I held up a hand and told Fred firmly that I did not want to hear it. "I do not want revenge. All I want to do is get rid of it." I looked hopefully up at him. "Do _you _know how to get rid of it?" You can't blame me for trying, Alicia. After all, the twins have done some amazing things in their nineteen years.

Fred rolled his eyes to the ceiling (Why do people _do_ that so often when they're around me?), and muttered, "Ask George, he's in the far back.". Wondering what had caused him to lose interest so fast; I looked around to see a small girl clutching a Pigmy Puff rather tightly. She had toddled up to the counter and with her other hand was grasping a few coins. Her mother, harried in appearance, looked on without comment.

"Don't startle him, though.", Fred added, as I made my way past the many whirring, blinking, walking, and generally distracting objects. Behind me, I heard Fred trying to persuade the girl to let him put the suffering Pigmy Puff in a cage: "But I think you might be hugging him too hard" to the titchy girl's protests of, "Fluff doesn't like cages. He's afraid of them."

I tried hard not to laugh at his obviously hopeless attempts as I forced myself to walk steadily though the card room with it's shelves stacked with numerous objects charmed in one way or another. As I drew closer to the door leading to the back room, I rummaged through my bag and pulled out my wand. I don't think that I need to explain why I did, Alicia. Entering rooms never used to frighten me; but that was before.

Pushing open the door with my hip, I peeked my head inside first and let out the breath that I didn't know that I had been holding. The only person there was George, wand in one hand, coffee in the other, stacking and rearranging boxes neatly.

I swung the door open the rest of the way and dropped my bag on the floor to the side. George visibly jumped at the noise, nearly dropping his coffee. I cringed inwardly and felt terrible for not listening to Fred. "Morning George", I said in a scratchy voice.

George turned on his heel immediately and surveyed my bruises with a suspicious eye. I gave him my most angelic smile and spun in place so that he could see my entire appearance.

Even though there are many things that set the twins apart, I think the biggest ones are their attitudes and senses of humor. George fully proved this to me, Alicia, when he didn't say anything, but handed me his coffee cup for the second time. Possibly a hint that I didn't look my best.

He turned back to the, of course, pressing and important job of stacking those boxes before I could even thank him. He didn't even let me raise my glass with a, 'Ta ever so', as was all of our custom. Being George, and it being about nine-thirty in the morning, he was just silent as he waited for me to say something.

"I provoked him", I told George, matter-of-factly. "More like I jumped him first. But he asked for it, you know." George, who had opened a box and was stacking something on the floor beside him just said, "I'm not surprised."

Which confused me for a second. I mean, Alicia. Am I really that predictable? "About what? That I jumped him first, or that he asked for it?", I admonished in an offended voice.

George had to think about that for a second as he closed the box back up again. "Both, I guess", He looked my way and shrugged, before levitating the box onto the top of the pile.

I don't know why that insulted me so much, thinking back on it. I mean, I've never been prefect material. My butt was almost as permanently affixed to detention chairs as the Weasleys' and Lee's. But even knowing this, I was a bit taken aback. "Well, you're not exactly a study in patience either, Weasley", was what I huffed at him, crossing my arms.

I was going to help him with the boxes up until this point, Alicia. I honestly was.

George considered this for no more than a moment before answering, quite efficiently, I might add, "Yes. But I never let anyone try to strangle me." His tone was a bit condescending and I bristled. _No one_ talked to me like that.

"Who says that he tried to strangle me?" I attempted this in an angry, even voice, but instead it came out squeaky and rough. Maybe that was a clue for him, but how else could he have known?

George turned around and looked at me in a startled way. Raising an eyebrow he just gestured toward a small mirror on the wall and said slowly and cautiously, "Because you have bruises on your neck."

I gasped. I mean, how was I supposed to know that it leaves bruises when people try to kill you? Usually when I got into fights, people did the normal thing and threw punches. No one ever meant to do serious bodily harm.

Except that one time. With that Slytherin, you remember? Before the final in my 6th year? That anti-vigilante Umbridge-League still gives me nightmares.

Hurrying to the mirror, and placing the coffee cup on the desk, I saw that there were indeed thumbprints that crossed across the front of my throat. I pulled back the hair from the nape of my neck, and there were a couple more. I gaped in horror and dropped my hair back to its normal place.

Paying no attention to my obvious trauma, George had changed pace once more and was going though a drawer in the small desk. "Here", He told me, speech muffled by the thick wood of the desk in question. Finally standing straight, he tossed me a tube. "You can have that one. Guessing you'll be needing it."

I caught it with ease, but wrinkled my nose as I read the label. "'WWW Bruise Remover'". I sneered and tossed it back to the twin. "Clever. Good try, too." George gave me another one of his patented eyebrow raises. _How_ does he _do_ it?

I sneered. "Yes. It will remove my bruises, probably. But what else will it do? Cause me to grow a horn in the middle of my forehead? Turn me into a canary?" I pretended to be deep in thought for a moment, before adding in an extremely bitchy voice (Even for me, Alicia, even for me): "Oh wait. I know. It will make me bleed until I'm almost dead and one of you has to carry me to the Hospital Wing."

It was probably that the fact that I almost died at the hands of a psychopath that made me say it. I must have been traumatized. I don't know why else, Alicia. I've never brought it up before. After all, I trust Fred and George with my life.

George visibly blanched and narrowed his eyes. "That's not fair, Katie. We would never have done that on purpose, Fred just gave you the wrong end is all." I was about to argue the point that they didn't have to give me anything at all (Which would have just been rounded about to the fact that I didn't have to take it), when you burst in.

I envy your work clothes, Alicia. I really, really do. Just because you're Madam Malkin's apprentice, you get to dress up in stunning robes with stylish bangles on your wrists and neck. You can even do your hair in cute, inventive ways. I'm not the kind to dress like that ever, and I've always been jealous.

You grimaced when you first saw me. "Good morning, George. Katie, you look wretched dearie. Absolutely wretched." You grabbed me underneath my chin and tilted my face into the light from the nearby window. "Wretched", you muttered once more, and I yanked my face away.

"Thank you", I spat, running a hand over my face. You reached for the tube in George's hand and, after checking the title, passed it towards me. "That's the stuff, Katie. It's brilliant. Marks will be gone within the hour."

I tried to ignore George's told-you-so grin, slipped the tube in my pocket and pulled you by the arm toward the door. "Have you got the rest of the day off?" You shrugged and answered, "Well, business _has_ been slow lately."

"Good". I kicked open the door as I always did and turned back to George, grabbing my bag. "Say goodbye to Fred, won't you?", I asked him, towing you out the door. George grinned and replied with a cheeky, "Bye to you, too, Katie".

You slammed the door, and then it was just the two of us, arms linked together, just like it used to be. "Ice cream?", you asked, and I nodded in affirmation. We walked to the parlor farther than the boarded-up ghost of Florean Fortescue's old place, and sat and ate ice cream, and had a proper girls' chat about important topics such as dress robes, hair, and the extremely good-looking Jonathan Lowe.

I think that, above the coffee, and the promise of vanished bruises within the hour, was really my saving grace.


	10. Chapter 9

_Author's Note: Sorry about the long wait between updates. My friends, most having been out of the country for most of the summer, and I have been trying to shove as much fun into the last two weeks of freedom as we can. But also, this is the longest chapter yet. So..._

_Okay, so that was a pretty useless paragraph up there. The real reason that I decided to throw in an Author's note this chapter is para muchas gracias! Although you may not realize it, your reviews have really kept me going. Even though I luff this fic and have no intention of putting it on hiatus, they have really 'inspired' me. At the risk of sounding like a cheeseball._

_Right. Here goes…_

_Eruaphadriel__: Being my first reviewer on this fic, I thank you. Also, I think that your pen name is uber sweet. I'm glad that you find the style that the story is written in refreshing, I have a sick habit of experimenting with POVs, and I'm glad that this one was approved. _

_hunni07: Thank you for your extremely sweet reviews, as well as your suggestions. As per your request, I edited the names in Chapter 7 so that they'd be more uniform. I only realized after I updated how confusing it looked! (You don't really need to know who Carlos is, lol, don't worry!)_

_rembrandt: A I have a sister, I share your pain. (Believe me, lol!) I'm glad that you like Katie's character!_

_Emily Spektor: Thank you!_

_): lol! Thanks for your review!_

_tree stump: Thank you for keeping me on my toes! Yes, the Alex that I referred to in Chapter 7 is indeed Nathanial Hughes. The appearance of the character Nathanial Hughes is based off a long-time friend named Alex. So…As I was thinking Nate, I was writing Alex. Also, I changed "welts" to "bruises". Thank you for that suggestion, also!_

_Again, I thank you for your kind and helpful reviews! I'll do this after a few more chapters again. I really wish there was a 'Respond to Review' thing._

_Right. Thanks ever so much all! Carry on. _

Chapter 9

The rest of the week passed almost exactly like that. Minus, of course, the nearly being sent to an early grave, as well as being thrown off of the pitch for attacking a man a head taller than me. The pattern, from far away, you see, Alicia, looked like this:

Wake up at 4:30, shower, grab duffle, apparate to pitch, gossip with Pat, chat with Mel, curse at Brain Thompson (Insufferable pig), laugh at Thompson being chewed out by Laurent, exchange pleasantries with Laurent, exchange friendly banter with Carlos/Nate/Hank/Nathalie/Devon/Zachary, admire the physique of Jonathan Lowe, show Janni Fletcher who, exactly, is boss, and change into my quidditch robes.

And that was all before practice even started. Then, the time from six in the morning until two in the afternoon would be spent running out-of-date plays, shooting around, and generally being worked into the ground by the handsome Jonathan.

After that, as you know, I would take my time in walking to your flat (You know that I don't apparate unless I have to), where I would fall asleep. Awoken by you slamming the door in whatever excess emotion you had that day, we would sit around and eat dinner with Stephanie, your curly-haired roommate, and gossip about whatever clearly needed gossiping about.

As you can see, I practically had it down to a science. It's sick that in only four days my schedule did not vary at all. I sound like an old hag, I really do.

Imagine my delight when Saturday came about and I received orders by owl to report back home and pack up my life into boxes. It came as a bit of a surprise. Even though I knew that it would have to happen, I had set it in the back of my mind. It was one of those shocking things that you can't bring yourself to think about.

What the owl had not specified, however Alicia, is that if I should come alone. Which is how I ended up at the front door of my own house flanked by you and Angelina. As Angelina had said, 'Life is a quidditch game, we'll always be around for you to pass to'. And I suppose you were, although her analogy blatantly showed her quidditch-obsessed side. The side that only the three of us and the twins knew about.

Peeking into one of my windows, while shouting at you to remember to leap over the rather large hole in our otherwise impeccably groomed lawn, I saw a set of brooms thrown on the floor and knew that my visit was not to an empty house. Not my luck, was it, Alicia?

Cautiously, I shut the door behind us and tossed my cloak easily over the hook in the wall. It was always so habitual. I motioned for the both of you to do the same as I crept down the hall into the kitchen. I had barely set a foot in the room when a voice greeted me.

"So did you really hit him, Kate?" I looked down to Emmy, who was sitting at the kitchen table with my brother. Wizard Cards surrounded them and they both looked serious and fully absorbed. I'm telling you, Alicia. It's because they're Ravenclaws. They're like…a whole different species.

Before I could say anything, Connor, who had been inspecting a handful of cards rather closely, interrupted. "Of course she didn't hit him. Since when has the Prophet been right? Remember what they wrote when she got attacked?" He scoffed and dropped the handful of cards. Sorting them through with careful fingers, he pushed three of them toward Emmy. "Queen Maeve, Wilfred Elphick, and Alberta Toothill for Bowman Wright."

On a normal day, I would have snapped a reply right back at Connor. But for some reason, I was delayed. It was just enough time for you to say incredulously, "Of course she hit him." Emmy beamed in response. Angelina, who had snatched an apple out of our fruit basket, took a large, loud, crunching bite of it and leaned over to inspect the series of cards that had been strewn across the table in such a foreign order.

Emmy, for some reason, had a large and quite stupid grin plastered to her face. I should have realized what it meant sooner. "Oh no", I groaned, as Emmy looked pointedly at my brother.

"You bet on me!" I squealed, just as Emmy informed Connor: "That will be two sickles and four knuts." Honestly, Alicia. I know that this might not come as a shock to you, as you were there. But they were _betting_ on me. It was a titchy bit embarrassing.

Connor his face had gone from being the definition of blank to full-fledged disbelief. "Katie! Why would you hit him? Can't you take my side for once?" He unsuccessfully shook his shaggy hair out of his face and narrowed his eyes at me. Or the parts of his eyes that I could see. It just wasn't very threatening. Just like a sheepdog trying to get angry at someone. You almost want to pat it's head and feed it a treat.

"Don't do it, Emmy", Angelina warned, swallowing her bit of apple and pointing at the stack of cards that my brother had laid out on the table. I think that he may have glared a little at her through his hair, too. It may have just been my imagination, though.

Then Emmy had the nerve to look up at Angelina in an idolizing way. Seriously. Right from a bet on me, back to Angelina. "You know my name?" She asked in wonderment, looking as if Christmas had come early. Angelina nodded nonchalantly, apparently used to this kind of behavior. Which brings me to ask, what other times has this happened? I don't recall anyone stopping her in the street and asking her for her autograph!

"Don't worry", Emmy assured Angelina. "He's only been trying to get Wright off of me for the past decade." She nodded like an old soul and Angelina had no choice but to nod along. Of course Angelina thought that that might have been a hyperbole, the whole ten years part. You know; a show of the imaginative mind of the thirteen-year-old girl. But the truth was, they have always fought over that damn card. It was the same bloody one, too. It probably _has_ been ten years.

Connr slapped a hand over the cards and drew them back to himself, muttering all the while. "Thanks Angelina", he snapped as he added them back to his deck. He looked back to Emmy. "I haven't got any money. Just three knuts." He withdrew them from his pocked, looking disgruntled.

Emmy smiled happily. "That's some money, I think. Hand it over, Bell". Scowling, Connor dropped the coins into her open palm. "I'll add the rest to what you already owe me. It comes to about two galleons and eight sickles."

"Now wait just a minute, Em! You owe me a galleon and nine knuts because the Arrows lost, remember? Just subtract them," Conner kept up his scowl as he argued this. Emmy shook her head.

"No Bell, that was for that one game that you're thinking of. I never side with the Arrows. Don't like 'em. I'm a fan of the Prides". Emmy looked adoringly at Angelina, who smiled uncomfortably in return.

"Hey! Hey!", Connor shouted and stood up, dropping his cards. "No! That's not right!"

"C'mon." I whispered to you and Angelina, as I took you by the elbows and led you toward my room. I would have stuck around, normally. Watching Emmy and Connor fight is usually quite interesting, as they shout five-syllable words quite frequently and it is quite an addition to anyone's lexicon. But when it's about money, they opt for four letter words and repeated games of Wizards' Chess.

I figure they both owe the other enough for a new broom. I just want to know why they can't just wipe the slate clean—this is the longest-going tab. Two years, I think, they've been adding IOUs to this one.

"They're quite annoying", You commented as you fell back onto my bed out of habit. "They're not so bad," Angelina told you, as she walked through the door. Still crunching loudly on that bloody apple, she was.

I would have said something in return, normally. But as I opened my mouth, I noticed something. My room was empty. I gasped and paled (I saw myself in the mirror. Not very pretty, you see). "She…She…" I couldn't finish my sentence, I was that angry. Leave it to my mother to be so controlling as to vanish my things without my even being there.

As I went to take the few steps to my closet, my foot caught something and I stumbled a bit. Angelina grabbed the back of my robes and pulled my back up before I could hurt myself. I straightened and looked down. There, on the floor, was every item that I owned… jam-packed into three boxes.

"That's twice this week, isn't it, Katie? You aren't quite safe around boxes of any sort, are you?" You commented dryly, as you examined the spread of posters and articles and nonsense attached to my walls. "I can't believe you have an Arrows Poster," Angelina told me, finishing up her apple and throwing it with ease into the waste basket.

To any normal person, it would have been a show of super-prowess, as the waste basket was quite a length away. But for the three of us, (Well, Angelina and I mostly), things like that are merely a fact of life. (And, though you try and justify it, it was a major factor in your life for six years, too.)

I gasped in horror, ignoring you and Angelina. I mean, I couldn't even go through my own things? I stomped my foot immaturely and threw open the closet door. The sketches that I had spent many-a-evening laboring over blew back in the wind created. I said a silent prayer of thanksgiving that she had not touched those.

The relief wore off in a few seconds, though. My mouth dropped open once more and I made a slightly frightening choking noise.

My entire closet was bare. _All of it._ Were my old schoolbooks stacked in the corner where I had left them? Nope. How about my stuffed lion, was it on the top shelf for good luck? No.

How about the rather large poster of the Weird Sisters in their artfully torn clothing posing their almost-too-good-looking selves? Was it on the wall behind the shelf where my shirts had been? Absolutely not.

What was there, though, was a pile of what looked like scraps of metal and wood. I furrowed my brows and knelt down to see, as I didn't remember such a pile existing prior to my mother's 'room exorcism'. Pulling on a silver piece, I suddenly realized what it was.

Every single picture that I owned, whether in a picture frame or not, had been thrown to the closet floor in such a jumble that it was almost impossible to tell one from the other.

I couldn't help it. I panicked. I, after all, had put my heart and soul into documenting my life at Hogwarts with said pictures! I mean, the shock of the rest of my room being torn apart paled in comparison.

"Angelina! C'mere," I said hoarsely. Angelina, as you know, condones many thoughtless acts on all of our parts. But the one thing that she does not, and never has, approve of is being bossed about. Needless to say, she took her own sweet time.

I don't even think that she really processes requests any more. Just goes about things at her own speed. Always has, I suppose.

"Yeah, what?", she asked, blinking slowly. I didn't answer her, just began salvaging as many pictures as I could– precious pieces of my life- and shoving them into her grasp.

What order they were in didn't matter. I pulled out so many. Posed with my sister against a broom shed when we were both little. The aftermath of the quidditch final in my sixth year. My brother, Emmy, and I tossing apples about. Me and my father chatting, with me perched upon his shop counter. The aftermath of the quidditch final in my seventh year, the most quiet and uneventful celebration that had ever his Hogwarts.

Finally, I pulled out my favorite set of pictures, pasted together in a pitiful attempt to never misplace them. In the first, it is the three of us. You know the one. Back in the common room after that bloody quidditch final, I was in my fourth year and you two were in your fifth. When the picture was taken, we had been sitting on the couch laughing with our arms around each other. Our quidditch robes had been long forgotten, but our Gryffindor sweaters still conveyed our team spirit.

Of course, since then our picture-selves had wandered off of the couch. But we're always smiling and laughing, true to our nature. Most of the time, anyway.

The other one was that picture of the team. Oliver and Harry are far in the background, but the three of us are entwined with the twins. We all look quite banged up, and it is hard to tell which limb belongs to whom, and when you look at it, it is quite difficult to discern how, exactly, we are staying hovering above the ground.

I love the both of them dearly.

Apparently you two did also, even then, as you hung over Angelina's shoulder and the two of you grinned down at them. "Isn't it funny that we were so carefree then?" Angelina asked, not breaking her smile. It's quite funny, because now that I think back on it, it's exactly what I thought at that same moment. And what I'm thinking now.

"I want a copy of this," You declared, as you poked the picture-us. "Why don't Angelina and I already have one?"

Before I even considered answering, I checked the bottom of my closet. All that was left on the floor was pieces of wood, silver, and glass. Good. With a wave of my wand, I vanished it. Quite successfully, I might add. There_ are_ a few spells that I have always been able to pull off, you see.

With reverence, I shut the door to my closet. It felt like closing the door on my childhood. Quite symbolic, you see. Shutting the door…ending childhood. Pictures. All quite deep, really. But I won't expect you to understand that, Alicia, dear. Depth, that is. Not the shutting of the closet.

Only kidding, Alicia. Keeping you on your toes once more, you see.

"Well, I did try to copy it," I frowned, and began to pull the sketches off of my closet door one by one, piling them on the floor. Angelina dumped the photos into a half-empty box (Pessimist, you see. I suppose that I could say that there was the distinct possibility of filling it up one day, and pose as a realist. But even that is stretching it for me.)

"Ah," I winced, and handed over the half-finished sketched version to Angelina. I had given up halfway through—Our photo-selves refusing to stay still and stop laughing, in our classically stubborn way—and instead worked on sketching our faces and robes. It was just for practice, I needed to practice shading and St, Mungos gets quite dull after about half a year.

"I'm bald." Angelina, half-frowning, told me in an amused voice. You squinted down at the picture. "My nose isn't that big, is it Kate? I'm a hideous beast, I am!"

I answered Angelina's point ("Angelina, your braids are rather hard to replicate. Sorry ever so."), but did not even justify your comment as I snatched the sketch away, and threw it on top of the others.

"Yeah, yeah. Bloody useless thing that I am, I can't even do justice to either of your beauty." Ruffled, I tossed the pile into the box and sealed it closed with my wand. You looked quite smug at being called beautiful and Angelina had a wonderful imitation of that Weasley expression that shows the bearer's deliberation on either amusement or contempt.

I put my hand on my hip. "Vanish them to your flat, won't you?" Of course I could vanish bits of trash back then. But my own things? Best leave that to the people who were capable.

Besides, I figured, if you did something utterly terrible to them, I could hold it over you and your disregard for others' feelings.

Just kidding, Alicia. Just a bit.

You lazily waved your wand and my room was empty. Utterly empty. Angelina was already headed toward the door, encouraged by the heated exchange that we could clearly hear downstairs. You followed, stuffing your wand back into your pocket.

I looked around my room a bit. The posters were colorful and free around me, and the newspaper articles swam together in a mess of parchment and ink. I slowly ambled toward my door, not having the heart to rip it all down. Taking a last look about, I shut the door. But not before a picture of myself caught my eye.

It was the headline the day that I was attacked. I blinked once, and quickly closed the door before joining the two of you in the kitchen.

Emmy and Connor had begun a list of IOU's, you remember. You both watched them in good humor, as they copied down every single bit of money that one had bet the other. In the center of the table lay a mound of money. A few galleons, but mostly knuts. They were sedate, for the most part, once in a while beginning to shout again. About what? Who knows. Money or summat.

What I was focused on were my mum and dad. My mum, neatly dressed and looking perfect as usual, was going on about something, shallow no doubt, under her breath as she packed boxes full of dishes. By packed, I mean waved her wand and things found themselves neatly tucked away. My dad, dirt chalked onto his face, leaf in his long blonde hair, was listening in a bored fashion, vanishing boxes idly at odd intervals, and nodded every once in a while for effect.

It was funny that I hadn't spotted them before, but I didn't question. Now that I think back on it, I don't think that I would have liked the answer.

"We're leaving now", I announced. Emmy and Connor looked up briefly. "Bye Kate," Emmy said happily enough. I bet that she was up in money, as Connor grumbled, "Go apparate yourself to the bottom of a cliff, Katie." I didn't bother to snap back and tell him that if I apparated to the bottom of a cliff, most likely I could apparate back out again. The male ego is a fragile thing; I could have broken him for life.

My mother stopped her wand-waving and smiled approval at the two of you. Immediately I felt a bit sick to my stomach. I knew what was coming next. It always happened…

"Hello Angelina, Alicia! How delightful to see you again!" She gave me a cutting glance and her smile hardened a bit. "Why can't you be more like your friends, Katherine? Look how sweet they are!" Instead of telling her how evil and seductive the two of you really are when it comes to men (And life in general. Almost as bad as me, really.), I plastered a grin to my face.

"Goodbye now." I snapped, pulling the both of you toward the door to my dad's hurried, but belated, shouts of hello and goodbye. Snatching my cloak off of the hook, I slammed the door behind us.

I had let go of both of your arms' in the process, and the two of you were hurrying to keep up with me as I stomped across the yard, screaming obscenities with each footfall. A couple meters from the house, I turned on my heel and informed the both of you, "To Alicia's flat.", before surprising myself and apparating before I even had a chance to worry about it.

Facing the door was how I stood until you both arrived. I suppose to anyone else it would look as if I was observing the grain of the wood or other such nonsense as that. But in reality, I was too infuriated to even move.

I mean, how _dare_ she continue to compare me with others? I mean, honestly, Alicia! I love the both of you, but do all of you seriously think that I don't spend enough time comparing myself with super-talented and beautiful Angelina, and stunning you? How unfair is it all, anyway?

You pushed me through the doorway. "Don't take what your mother says to heart, Katie." Angelina advised wisely, steering me toward the couch and pushing me back toward it. I sunk into the cushions, thankful for friends like the two of you. Even if you were super-talented and gorgeous people hanging out with a slob like me. It's probably out of pity. Am I right, Alicia?

No doubt I am.

You made a noise as if to say something, but looked up toward the entrance to the kitchen. There Stephanie stood, looking nervous. "Alicia…I've got a bit of news." She rocked back and forth on her feet and wrapped a curl around her finger as if she was uncomfortable in her own skin.

"What is it, then? Can't you see we're quite busy?" You snarled at her, but it didn't daunt Stephanie. She shared her "News" with us anyway. She should have specified it as "bad news", ad given us a warning. Because it certainly was. Bad news that is.

I should know, because the thing that she said next shocked me so much that I began to wildly hyperventilate and, as per usual, Angelina made me hold me head between my knees.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"What do you mean that Katie has to move out?" You roared. Quite ferociously, I might add. I was very proud of you. I don't know many other people who could manage all of that anger. "Who cares if your bloody sister needs to move in? Katie is practically _my_ sister."

Angelina just looked on, palm pressed on my back to keep me in my head-between-the-knees position, lest my hyperventilating get worse. I don't quite remember all of the specifics, but even now I recognize that a passed-out-Katie on the floor would not have helped the situation.

Nope. It would have helped not one bit.

You brought yourself up to your full height and fisted your hands on your hips. "I live here just as well, Stephanie. Don't you forget who gets you discounted robes and accessories!"

Hey, wait a mo. You have only once gotten me a discounted robe! Which I didn't even pay for! The story of which is recounted later in the letter, but even though. After those butterbeers (Or Firewhisky, which I may just need by that time) you are getting me a new set of dress robes. Pretty ones. Maybe blue coloured.

Stephanie's eyes narrowed. "Don't _you_ forget, Alicia, that I'm the one who not only procured this place of residence, but I also pay more than you do in rent." She ground this out, her hands on her fists in a poor imitation of you.

You gasped. I couldn't even blame you. It was as low a blow as any I'd ever seen before. "Are you threatening me?" you snapped at her, stomping your foot. Stephanie just gave a simpering smile in return.

"Maybe I am, Alicia. If I were, would you know it?"

That was when I had had it. I stood up quite abruptly, knocking Angelina's hand off of my back. I must have surprised her, as she stepped back. My feet were not under my own control as I stomped over to Stephanie, who was watching me out of the corner of her narrowed eyes.

"You know what, Stephanie?" I growled at her, waving my wand in her face. She didn't know that magic isn't quite my thing, and I wanted to keep it that way. "Give your sister this message for me, eh?" Without pausing, I gave her an extremely rude hand gesture and stomped toward the door.

Angelina gave a shout of laughter and you were quiet just a moment before saying in a light-hearted voice: "Katie, dear, you aren't helping anything. You know that, don't you?"

Well, um, of course I knew that I wasn't helping anything. Well, I know now. Then there wasn't quite the same little voice in my head telling that it probably wasn't that good of an idea back then.

Feeling for the door handle under my palm, I turned back to tell you something. Which just happened to be, I believe, "I'll talk to you later, Angelina. Can you keep my things here, Alicia?" and last of all, "Hope that a blast-ended skrewt eats you, Stephanie."

As I slammed the door shut behind me, I heard a loud "Hey!".

I know that this makes me sound like that worst person on earth, but every time I get even a bit of revenge on someone, I revel in it a bit. Do you think that that makes me sick, Alicia? Well, at any rate, it really doesn't matter, as you've gotten a cold-served dish from me a few times.

Just kidding, Alicia. A bit, anyways.

It also took me a few steps to realize that Blast-Ended Skrewts aren't really carnivores, are they? Looking back on it, I'm not exactly sure what they eat. At all, actually. But does it matter? It really didn't matter if one just chewed on Stephanie's head for awhile.

I was seeing red, Alicia. I honestly was. I mean, I did contribute to your flat! Not so much money or rent, but most certainly food and such! And yet Stephanie had the nerve to throw me out. So inconsiderate. So, so inconsiderate.

So, seeing as I'm off topic, let me get back to the part of the story at hand.

As I said, I stalked away from your flat as fast as I could. I think there must have been a look on my face that suggested disgust because as I stomped past a middle-aged wizard, he gave me quite a dirty look. I am so awful that even older men cringe at the sight of me! I'm sure that that didn't help my mood either.

As I was doing my stalking around bit, I wasn't in a blind rage like you may think that I was. It was no where compared to tackling Thompson (Which I still stand by, by the way. I'd hit 'im again anytime.) I was actually doing a little bit of thinking, and not so much brooding. What was I thinking, exactly, Alicia? Well, it wasn't quite so deep as, 'My, Stephanie is quite a prissy bitch'.

More along the lines of, 'Fuck. Where do I go now?'

Which is how I ended up closing my eyes and visualizing the place that I go whenever I'm not really sure where I should actually be going…WWW. Concentrating hard, I Apparated. The funny pulling, pushing feeling almost made me sick to my stomach in my oh-so-tender state.

So sick, in fact, that as soon as my feet touched the ground I stumbled a little bit. I crossed leg over leg in a drunken demeanor. With a clenched hand, I steadied myself on the window. My eyes rolled before I finally had enough sense to close them.

I shouldn't have bloody closed them around WWW! It wasn't very Weasley Savvy of me.Not after the Fireplace Incident (Oh yes, I know it's Capitalized now, as are all of the wildest Weasley adventures. I should be happy that I have made it into their Wall 'o' Fame and such. Maybe I am, a little bit. I suppose).

I hadn't even been there two minutes before I heard a voice say, "Bell?". It seemed to come from above me. I craned my neck to see, and I squinted and opened my eyes several times to see. But to no avail.

Finally, I just settled for doing the normal thing. Covering my eyes and yelling, "What?" My stomach churned. There was a rustling, and someone began to say something in a hushed voice, but then there was a clatter and a yell.

A yell that went something like this: "Heads up, Bell!"

'Bloody Weasleys' was pretty much all I had time to consciously think. There wasn't enough time to move, and without warning I was cloaked in black. It was very quiet and very dark.

Doesn't it just figure?


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

I thought that I was dead, Alicia. Really. You know: kicked off, six feet under, pushing up daisies, moving on. That was until I heard a shout. I haven't been dead before, so it's not as if I'm speaking from experience here, but I don't think that they shout much in heaven. In fact, I've always imagined heaven to be a bit of a peaceful place. It was probably this thought that made me open my eyes…To even more darkness.

I gasped and reached for my wand. Pulling it out was a bit hard, as I was sitting on the ground in an awkward position, but I managed it. "_Lumos_," I muttered, before looking around. It seemed that I was in some sort of…room. I blinked once, before shouting out, "Fred! George! What the hell have you done to me?" I wasn't worried; the Weasleys had gotten me into and out of situations worse than this. I was more squeamish, there was not much room to breathe…

My thoughts were interrupted as suddenly it was bright again. I inhaled through my teeth and covered my eyes. I slowly pulled my hand away, and to my surprise Lee's nose was just inches from mine. "You okay, Kate?" he asked. I pulled my head back a little, so that there was more room between us. "I didn't mean to drop it on you."

I looked around; Fred was there, folding up a piece of tarp. The thing that had, apparently, fallen on top of my head. It was the advertisement for the "Amazing Peruvian Darkness Powder! All the Fright of Real Darkness!" I was glad that they finally got around to taking it down; after what had happened at Hogwarts, they've been so careful as to who they were selling it to that the stock that they had barely moved at all.

I blinked in a disoriented way. I mean honestly, Alicia. Being chucked out of my living arrangements, and then chucked into some sort of crazy Weasley situation did not have the calming effect that I was looking for that Saturday morning. Lee put an arm around my waist as I stumbled off of the ground.

Lee tilted his wrist towards the sun, grimaced, and straightened his robe. "Time for me to be getting to the Ministry. Anything you need, Gred?" This was about time when I noticed that his dreadlocks were looking particularly tidy, and his robes were of especially high quality. I tilted my head to the side and examined my long-time school friend. This was when he worked for the Ministry in an insignificant job under his dad. You know when I mean. When he only commentated when his long hours would allow, I think that I may have mentioned it before. Of course, working for the Ministry allowed Lee to…ah…pull some strings for the Twins…

Fred frowned and clicked his teeth together. "Handful of Venomous Tentacula seeds would be nice. Please and thank you, Lee." Lee grinned and gave Fred a thumbs-up. Turning to me, he gave a sardonic grin and a nod, before Apparating. Poor Lee. He really was unhappy at the Ministry.

Fred looked over from where he was standing, only taking a small pause in his folding. "Sorry, Kate. We were trying to take down the sign. When you Apparated, Lee got distracted. Hence the sign throwing." He finished folding and threw it on the ground, his hands in the air. "I had nothing to do with it, I _promise_." There was only a moments' pause before Fred withdrew his wand, and pointed it at another pile of tarp on the ground. With a lazy wave, he unfolded it.

"George! Pay attention, man! Tell us when it's straight!" I winced. For some reason, Fred was in a particularly foul mood. He didn't pause for a joke. There was no good karma that came off of him, either. I followed his glare to the top of the building across the street, where it looked as if George was in completely opposite spirits. He was laughing at something and only snapped to attention when he heard his brother's yell.

As soon as it looked as if George was looking our way, Fred waved his wand and levitated the long piece of tarp. From my location, I couldn't quite make out the words right above me. Doing a bit of a dance on his tiptoes that I would have laughed at, had Fred not been in a right mood, he tried to position himself as close to the center as he could.

"There!" George called loudly across the street. "It's straight right there!" Fred waved his wand to apply the Sticking Charm and George, his duty done, saluted to whoever he was laughing at. Then he was gone from the rooftop and standing right next to Fred. Apparation. I will never fully get used to it.

"Whose shop is that?" I asked George, but Fred answered instead. "It's a family shop. The girl who runs it now is about our age. When we moved in, she brought us cookies." I nodded appreciatively at the Apothecary shop that looked quite high class, from what I could see. Someone who did so well as to have such a beautifully painted sign as that, and still managed to find time to bake cookies got points in my Quidditch Scorebook 'o' Life.

George folded his arms and raised an eyebrow at me. "Okay, I'll bite. Twenty questions it is, Bell. Why're you here?" He stood stock still, and only looked away long enough for both he and Fred to wave at a generously proportioned old man down the street. I sighed, and once again explained my displacement. They both listened quietly and, I feel awful for saying this, but it was the perfect day for Fred to have a bad day. He had no smart-ass comments to throw back at me with a grin.

Talking to the Twins, however, is still not as nice as talking to you. You know when to sympathize, Alicia. You know when to make those obnoxious cooing noises (Don't deny it now, dear). The Twins, however, just looked at me, nodded, and both mumbled a version of the clichéd phrase, "Well that's the way is goes, isn't it?" I guess with all that they have been through, it's hard for them to feel sorry for me. And that's okay.

I shrugged off their attempts at sympathy and backed out from underneath the sign. I could finally read it. I was so sure that it was an ad for some wild and wacky new invention of theirs…

**WEASLEY'S WIZARDING WHEEZES NOW HIRING!**

_Not a brain? Need not apply!_

I frowned. I looked at the Twins. Then I looked back at the sign. Then at my shoes. Finally, I looked back at the Twins. It certainly was not what I expected. They both looked back at me, innocent faces in place. I swear that I saw a ghost of a smile on Fred's face before he said, "Like it? Forge made it."

I looked back at George and gave a hesitant smile. "Always knew you were the eloquent one, George." He gave a tight smile and a nod. Peering back at the sign, I just stared a moment. I had to ask…It was killing me… "What happened to…to…Veric...Veris…Blondie?".

It was as if the lights in their faces had suddenly clicked off. Fred ground his teeth and George set his jaw, sneaker toeing the dirt. There was a pregnant pause before Fred finally decided to answer me. "Verity. We chucked her." There was a small sigh of relief from my side. As long as she wasn't eaten by anything that they had invented. Eaten or mauled. That could put a damper on anyone's fun.

George finished for him. "She was nicking from us, Katie. Left and Right. We just thought that we had made some errors in counting. Honest mistakes. But she was a bloody sneak. We found out just this morning, Veronica spotted her."

It didn't even occur to me to ask who Veronica was. The wheels in my head were turning, and I didn't want to stop them in the middle of whatever idea they were coming up with by asking some mindless question. I glanced upwards at the sign before pacing the length of it, turning around, and walking the length back.

Let me give you some insight into my mind, Alicia. Maybe everything will make a bit more sense to you. I was thinking that if I took that job at WWW, then I would have some pocket change. Some extra money would allow me to rent a flat, which would allow me to be mother/roommate's sister free. Then I could live there, play on England National, _and _have money spare. It was the perfect solution.

I finally stopped pacing. The Twins were whispering back and forth to each other, and when I stopped walking, they stopped talking. "I'm interested." I announced. They both gave me blank looks. You would have thought that I was talking to a kneezle. Honestly, Alicia. "…In the job." I finished, and they looked at each other. I couldn't read either of their expressions, but I have no doubt that each knew what the other was thinking.

"Katie is a bit of a brain." George pointed out with a shrug to Fred, who was looking straight at me. "She wouldn't nick anything from us, either." Fred muttered to himself out loud. Like I wasn't even bleedin' there, Alicia. I tell you, they are such…_men_!

The looked at each other again. "Right-o." George told me. Then Fred was quick to take my arm. I was _elated_, Alicia! It was the first good thing to happen to me in the longest time. I let Fred tow me through the doors to WWW, through the front two rooms, and finally into the back room. There, Fred pushed me into a chair and began rummaging through a desk drawer.

I watched him with a dazed look. It was amazing. I had been down on luck for so long, that it was basically the equivalent of you dating the handsome Jonathan. It was _that good._

Fred slapped a piece of clean parchment onto the desk, and George sat behind it. It looked lovely and orchestrated (To mine eyes, at least). George pulled a quill from a drawer, as well as a bottle of ink. Dipping the quill, he was careful not to drip onto either the table or the parchment. As soon as this was done, Fred began to pace the room and dictate.

I am telling you, Alicia. For all the jokes that the twins have pulled over the years, you would think that their sense of humor would carry over to WWW. But no, Alicia. They took their business extremely seriously. Fred was babbling in legal mumbo jumbo, and I began to tune him out. I figured that neither of the twins would rip me off. And if they did? I knew where they lived, _and _where they worked. So there was no way that they would get away with it.

What exactly was I tuning him out with? Good thing that you asked, Alicia (Or at least thinking about asking.) I was visualizing my new flat. It would have a lot of windows, and a couple of rooms. There would be an absolutely breathtaking view of some meadow filled with roses. No! With sunflowers! I was also visualizing, quite vividly, the things that I would put into my flat. I lovely little stove, a flowerpot with titchy purple flowers, an English National banner. Not to mention that I would have enough to give my broom a full service and repair…

"Okay, Kate?" Fred broke into my reverie. I looked up with a faint smile. Fred was watching me intently, and George was hunched over the parchment, writing with unusually slow strokes and biting his lip all the while.

"Absolutely." I told him with a grin. George pushed the parchment across the desk towards me, and handed me the quill. Once again, I knew that the twins would not intentionally cheat me, so I just looked over the document and signed it with a flourish. "What exactly does this job entail?" I asked leaning back, my hands behind me head.

George looked at me from a position that looked frighteningly similar to mine. "Stacking, stocking, handling money, selling, fetching things from other places, working with customers…" He let the pause drag on in a painfully awkward way. I smiled and nodded. It was an easy enough job to perform, I had no problems with it. Also, could one think of a job any more entertaining than one that was under the twins? I sure couldn't. Not at that time, I couldn't.

Fred looked at me. I knew that he knew that I hadn't listened. I could tell just by the look on his freckled face. "Of course, you'll have to be here from after Quidditch practice until closing, on Saturdays from 8:30 until 6:30 ( A half-hour before opening, and after close), and on Sundays from seven until eight to stock for Monday." He tapped his wand at the parchment. "It's all in the contract that you just signed."

My smile faltered. That sounded like a lot of work. No Alicia, let me rephrase that. That sounded like a_ lot_ of work. As in…No time left in my schedule. At all. I clicked my teeth together and gave a dry laugh. "Remind me how much you're paying me." I requested, not as if they had said anything about it in the first place. Fred told me.

I closed my eyes and put my hand to my forehead. It was plenty of money, that wasn't the problem. The problem was,that it wasn't enough to buy my own bloody flat. It was it was a little more than England National was playing me to be pelted my bludgers and sit on a bench. It wasn't enough to even buy the titchy purple flowers, not if they were the magic ones that lived forever, and told you when to water then. Because let's be honest, that's a bit necessary for me.

I cleared my throat, and still avoiding their eyes, I broke the news to them in the form of the words: "Then you have to figure out how to board me. I haven't got any money for a flat, both Alicia and Angelina have roommates, and I really don't feel up to trusting some stranger to live with me."

When I looked up, they both were looking at me. So I finally confessed, "And I've got too much bloody pride to ask my parents for help, and my sister is moving in with Dave." George grinned, but tried to hide it behind his hand, and Fred's mouth turned into an 'O' of surprise. They both looked at each other.

Once again, I have no idea what is being said when they look at each other like that, but I do know that one second they were calm, and the second minute Fred had told me, "You can stay with us." Relief flooded over me, and I would have hugged them both if George hadn't have leapt out of the chair with both hands up and palms extended. He looked at Fred warningly.

"No. No. No! No, Fred! I know what you're thinking. No!" George looked utterly serious as he circled around behind me. I didn't have the slightest clue as to what he was talking about, and turned in my chair to watch him inch toward the doorway.

Fred spotted my puzzled look, and filled me in. "You can stay with George. He's got the bigger room." I looked hesitant, as Fred assured me that it was not a big deal.

"That's not fair! You can't use that against me!" George nearly wailed as he leaned into the wall in defeat. "I only got the bigger room because _you_ got the bigger bed, because we decided that we didn't have room to buy anything else and we didn't want to spend our start-up money! Why do _I_ have to bloody share?"

I held out my hands toward Fred in a gesture not unlike the one that George had given. "Really Fred. It's not that big of a deal. A couch in a corner would be fine. I'm not needy--"

Fred waved me off. "Have you been upstairs to our flat? It consists of two bedrooms, a closet-sized kitchen, and a bathroom. There's not enough space. That's the only place that we can manage to shove you. George's room isn't even as big as we make it sound."

I clicked my teeth and hung my head in what I hoped was a humble way. I don't think the twins know how much they helped me. They restored my confidence and my paycheck. Eventually I would save up for my own flat. Even the titchy purple potted plant. "I thank the two of you greatly for this opportunity. You are not only great businessmen, but great friends also. I don't think--"

George cut in. "Save the shit, Bell. Just go get your things so that we can find a way to shove them away, eh?" He scowled, and Fred socked him playfullyin the shoulder and gave him a grin. I hopped out of my chair and scampered from the room, but not before enclosing the both of them in a hug.

"Make sure you're back here soon, and we'll show you the ropes. Tomorrow is your first official day!" Fred called after me, and the tiny bell rang as I exited the shop.

Just outside the doorway, I took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. Finally, I was becoming an independent woman. I had two jobs (Overachieving hurts sometimes, Alicia. It really does.), a place to live, and friends. What else could I need?

Well, the answer wasn't what I needed. It was what I wanted. I wanted a first-string position badly. And now that I was settled in the other areas, I could finally take care of the main goal at hand.

Wanting badly to skip away from WWW, I held in my glee. Throwing my shoulders back and holding my chin high, I strutted away. I stopped only to draw my wand and point it at the help wanted sign. Performing the de-sticking charm quite wall, may I say, thetarp fell into a crumpledpileat my feet.

I left it there. The main thought going through my head right then was:_ Bloody hell, this is going to be a lot of work. _But strangely enough, I didn't seem to mind.


End file.
